The Damocles Solution
by artisanrox
Summary: If you only knew what I know, you'd wish you didn't know anything at all.  A RGB fic.  E/J forever!
1. Chapter 1

The Damocles Solution

My first fanfic resulting from a 20 year fandom! Real Ghostbusters all the way!

Note: what do I take as canon? GB1 and anything J. Michael Straczynski overlooked, edited, wrote, or sneezed upon. Anything else, I sorta go "meh" and hit the "back" button on.

(This chapter was revised on Oct. 10, 2010 to get rid of a lot of dumb-looking typos and errors.)

The Damocles Solution 1

"That. Was. _Disgusting_," a chalky-white Peter Venkman moaned as he held his head in his hands in the front seat of the Ecto-1. "I am never going in there again. I was almost blown to smithereens because of a crazy weirdo with a flute, I was almost toasted to bits because of a stupid door in a subway tunnel, and I almost got levelled by a demonic bulldozer. But guys…I am not gonna eat for a _week_ after seeing that. "

"Well, those things were more, yanno…_dangerous_", Winston piped in, leaning back in an effort to disappear into his car seat. Holding his head, he propped his elbow on the small ledge of the rear door. "But I agree. This was just _gross_." He rolled his eyes and sighed deeply, preferring to just get back to headquarters and hopefully, never having to deal with ProbeCorp Labs _ever _again. "However, those people donated their bodies to science. If I can just get over what I saw, I'd say that we're kinda doin' those people a great service. I try to keep them in mind while I'm there."

Peter was uncomforted by the suggestion to keep a more humanitarian mindset. "The only service I want is for someone to donate a stomach pump to the firehouse so I can use it before I have to show up there again. Which, by the way, I'm _not gonna do. Ever_."

"If we don't clear out that class II, the results of tests will continue to be skewed and the research will be rendered futile," added Egon nonchalantly as he rounded another corner. "The entity has a knack of concealing itself whenever it wants."

"Yeah," added Winston. "We camped out for that thing for four hours. It knew we were there."

Egon continued. "It's only a class II so far, and yes, it seems that it knows how to avoid attention until someone finds a bizarre result and has the whole lab in chaos over it."

"Can't it avoid attention in a chocolate shop?" Peter argued. "Or a state liquor store? Or…or even a ladies' clothing store, preferably a fitting room? Does it _really_ have to be in a bioresearch lab with donated parts and bodies?"

"It's locked into the immediate vicinity of the lab for now, Peter. I don't think it's very interested in chocolate shops or lingerie as of anytime in the near future."

An exasperated sound, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, filled the vehicle.

After wiping his face from chin to hairline a few times, Peter sat back in the seat and turned his head, one eye cocked at the passenger behind him. "Hey. Ray. You're too quiet. It scares me when either you or Egon are too quiet because that always means you want to tell us of some imminent disaster. Am I in the ballpark here?"

Ray's concentration temporarily broken, he uncrossed his arms, though his mouth still turned to the side and his brow deeply furrowed. "I dunno. Not imminent disaster, just-"

"OK Ray," Peter interrupted. "That's all I care about, so now you can go back to being quiet."

Ray rolled his eyes. "I was gonna say that something about there just…reminds me of something. I'd have to think about it more, and maybe look around more closely when we get the call to go back."

"I think you huffed way too much formaldehyde while you were there, Tex."

Winston threw Peter a rather perturbed look. "You can't get wacky from formaldehyde just sittin' in a lab, ya know."

"That reminds me," added Egon smoothly. "I was going to order a few liters of formaldehyde. I want to begin my planned research on the implementation of corporeal preservation methods on the effects in the non-physical worlds."

"A couple _liters__!_" Peter exclaimed, stunned. "You want a couple _liters_ of that stuff right under our noses? You want some kind of medal that you're one of two able to even drive _home _after being in there or somethin'!"

Egon didn't answer, but adjusted the rear view mirror-while making absolutely sure he made eye contact with Winston behind him long enough for the dark man to see his twinkling eys and a wickedly evil, almost-not-there grin across his lips. Winston smiled broadly, and elbowed Ray next to him so the readhead could share the joke.

Peter continued ranting as the last turn was made into the firehouse. "Can you imagine what the whole place would smell like of Slimer found that stuff and couldn't handle keeping it down! Or maybe you're gonna wanna make that stuff into Chanel number 10 for yourself next!"

The car puttered and ground to a halt, and the four veterans of all things paranormal were more than happy to step out of uniform.

Winston was the first to finish changing, hurriedly hanging his own jumpsuit in the closet. He practically jumped over to their secretary's desk, and excitedy threw his hands on her desk.

"So, Janine…didja get a call from 'er yet?"

"Naaaah," said the redhead with the thicker-than-a-deluxe-bagel-annoying Brooklyn accent, a pile of books of eclectic origin piled in front of her on her desk. She flipped through another page of the rather technical book she was reading at the moment, _Signs of Cosines—A Geometry Primer_.

Winston hung his head like a puppy denied a treat. "Dang. My girlfriend's been on this trip to France for two weeks. She said she'd call here first when she got back, but doesn't look like it's happened yet." He headed back to the couch to clear his mind of preserved body parts, and relax watching TV.

Janine raised her eyes from the book for a moment, giving Winston an understanding look. "Saaaaarry. The only things we got in calls or mail were a coupla bills, a lawsuit settlement notice from that thing on Fifth Avenue, and this letter from that girl Cindy you guys visited a while ago."

"Ooh! Lemme see that!" Peter cooed as he made quick pace over to Janine's desk. He grabbed the letter out of her hands. "It IS from her! That cute girl that used to date the crazy weirdo with the flute!" He brushed his hair back before slowly and painstakingly digging under the glued envelope. "She's seen the light. She's had a change of heart. She wants me now, doesn't she? This is the big news right here!"

Janine flipped through another page of her book.

Winston turned on the TV.

Ray opened the door and began to inspect the contents of the fridge.

Egon cooly headed to the lab—there were liters of formaldehyde to not order.

Peter watched them, one by one, growing more thoroughly annoyed. "You guys are REALLY gonna be sorry you haven't heard this, yanno."

He turned his head and raised his hand with the letter to eye level. "Ahem. Now I shall read the searingly romantic missive in my hot hands. _Dear Drs. Venkman_- See! She put me first!-_Stantz, Spengler, and Mr. Zeddemore:_" He paused, reading ahead a bit, and his face grew increasingly darker, his brow lowering. "_I have to inform you…of the passing of my former boyfriend…Jeremy Whittington."_


	2. Chapter 2

(This chapter was updated on Oct. 10, 2010 to get rid of dumb-looking errors and typos.)

The Damocles Solution, chapter 2.

Everything stopped. Janine went open-mouthed. Winston turned around and furrowed his brow. Ray looked up from the fridge, in mid-chew of a Twinkie. Egon returned from the stairs and leaned against the wall, arms folded and suddenly wearing a searing expression.

"Go on." Said Egon.

Peter continued, pacing back and forth as he read._ "Jeremy was involved in a single vehicle accident on a highway coming back from work. I wanted to write this letter to tell you again how grateful I am that he made peace with his surroundings after the Ragnarock incident. Thank you also so much for not openly declaring him the cause. He already knew in his heart, as everyone knew, that no prison time could ever come close to allowing him to atone for the awful realization of who he thought he was and what he almost accomplished. He had disgraced everyone he knew including his beautiful friend, Di Tillio, and Jeremy's beautiful teacher who trusted him with such dangerous information."_

Egon hmphed deeply.

"_Please know that the last words anyone heard him say, even now for so long after the incident has passed, were: There are so many things I need to atone for. DiTillio, I love you. You will always be the better man than I._"

Janine put down her book. "My god."

Winston sighed. "There are times that I feel sorry for the guy. But quite honestly, most times…I just don't. I can't. But yeah, tryin' to destroy the world. Jail just…can't fix that."

Ray sat next to Winston, placing a plate of various foods of various calorie contents on the table in front of the two of them. "Gosh. I wonder how it happened. And I wonder how DiTillio's handling it."

Peter continued. "It says here: _DiTillio has solemnly sworn to never let anyone know about the destructive power that a few words and some ancient heiroglyphics can create. He seems to be doing worse every day because of the strain of keeping such an awful secret. His guilt is eating him away, but he rests in the hope that anyone who would have access to information of this nature be granted such on the merits of his soul and personality and not necessarily on the size of his interest in the occult. However, he is living every day to the fullest, (as we all are), in spite of his health problems. Along with myself, we hope your continued work preserves the lives of many people. God bless and keep you all. Signed,CindyFrawcord. P.S.-Thank you so much again to all you brave men. You've saved not only one man's soul from selfish oblivion, but also the world." _

The only sound that rang through the firehouse for a moment or two was the traffic going by.

Peter sighed. "I guess that means she doesn't realize she wants me yet," he said, tossing the letter back on the secretary's desk. "She has NO idea what she's missing."

Janine shot a glare at the doctor, then picked up the letter and studied it. Egon had already walked over silently from where he leaned, to right in back of the secretary, carefully examining every inch of the letter along with her as she flipped the paper over a few times, front-to-back, from well above her shoulder. "Ya'd think that knowing how to call up somethin' like that, you'd be too excited running the world **your** way instead of tryin' to destroy it!"

From the dark look on his angular face, Winston and Ray could tell that comment didn't exactly agree with Egon too kindly.

Peter waved his hand and sat next to Ray and Winston, opening a beer. "Aaah, he was a musician. He was so stuck on losing out on Cindy that he couldn't think of anything else. You know how those artsy-fartsy types are…you burst their bubble once and they don't think that there's a whole bottle of bubble solution just waiting to be…well…bubbled!" He turned to Ray. "So Ray, what would you do if you could run the world? And let me grab a doggie bag in case it involves something like peace, love and harmony."

"Actually Peter…I was thinking just that…that I'd like to establish peace, love and harmony," replied Ray matter-of-factly.

The psychologist briefly put a finger to his tongue with an exaggerated _blech_ in feigned sickness. He eyed Winston. "How 'bout you Winston? Wouldja turn all the lead in the world to gold? Wouldja make the newpapers put dramatic headlines in when you got a hangnail? Wouldja clear the streets when driving to a job so Ecto-1 would never need a buff ever again? And hey, by the way, who needs a job when you can run the world anyway? Ha! Silly me!"

Winston took a swig of beer. "Actually I was thinkin' along the same lines as Ray."

"You know, you boys have to get _out_ more. Remind me to assist you with that if the info of how to make to world go boom pops in my head one day." Peter cocked his head over at their secretary. "Hey, Janiiiiiiine," he said, almost singsongy, "I'm suuuuuuure you'd take being our boss again over running the entire world."

Janine tried to blow off the tease about the whole genie incident as smoothly as she could, but still nervously chewed on the end of her pencil, uncomfortable not only at being reminded of her naïve requests while seemingly having the aid of a supposedly harmless genie, but also having Egon hovering over her while it was being mentioned. "Running the world after bein' _your_ boss would seem like a pay raise, Doctor Venkman."

Peter feigned physical chest pain for a moment. "So Spengs, whaddaya think? If anyone can make the world go boom, it's you. You're only one of three people on Earth that were smart enough to be bothered to study how to destroy the world." He slapped his forehead. "_Gosh_, why didn't _I_ think of minoring in world destruction when _not studying_ for my degree!"

If looks could kill, they say. "I suggest you desist from describing me that way in any future reference, or I will apply sudden and destructive pressure to you rather overly-gregarious consumption orifice," Egon said, practically growling.

Peter turned to Winston and Ray. "Wha'd he say?"

Winston grinned broadly. "He said that if ya don't shut up he'll deck ya in the mouth, homeboy." Ray nodded vigorously, obviously desperately stifling a laugh.

Peter innocently put his palms up. He know no one was more formidable than an angry six-foot-six, rather in well shape man that, as an added bonus, knew more than a hundered different ways how to blow every cell in your body to quarks.

Egon, finished examining the letter, turned his attention to the geometry book that still lay opened on the desk in front of Janine. Picking it up and leafing through it, he returned the discussion to a more somber tone. "Anyway, I don't think this is an accident. Ragnarok is too destructive not to have repercussions after its attempted summon. I think we should stay on guard about **this issue** and carefully monitor the news and phone calls for any unusual activity."

Peter rolled his eyes. "We work with slime and spooks on a daily basis and this guy says we should keep our eyes peeled for what he calls 'unusual activity'."

A rather enthralled Janine looked up at the blond doctor. "Whatcha think, Egon?" she said sweetly and softly. "I'm trying to improve my knowledge of various subjects. Just in case Dr. Venkman ends up running the world and I have to teach 'im a few things."

Egon raised an eyebrow. "This does seem a rather useful book explaining the most elementary basics and simple proofs. Rather juvenile, but efficient."

Janine was taken aback for a moment at the word "juvenile", but recovering quickly, her eyes regained their twinkle. "Knowledge is power, Egon. You taught me that."

Disturbed, he returned the book to the page she was on. "Just remember the incident we learned about today, Janine. Sometimes 'ignorance is bliss' seems less an adage than a time-tested truth." His words were so heavy that even Peter was silenced for a moment, deeply understanding the burden apparent in his colleague's words.

Egon turned and again, headed toward the lab to continue his studies.

Winston broke the silence. "Hey, wanna flip through the stations news and see if anything about that big museum meeting in Paris is featured? If my girl gets interviewed, I can tell 'er good she looked on TV!"

Ray happily agreed, Peter lazily acquiesced, and the three continued to discuss news-news learned just previously, and kept their eyes peeled for anything new they might see that might have to do with either Jeremy Whittington or Winston's girlfriend.

While the guys continued bantering, Janine tapped her pencil hard on the desk a few times. "Ignorance is bliss…oh really, Egon? I'll show ya I can handle knowledge like a pro," she whispered to herself. She picked up the geometry book again, trying to cram more information into her already overheated head.


	3. Chapter 3

Just a reminder: reviews make me squee!

Also, on 8/16/10, I fixed a couple silly typos in chapters one and two. Nothing major. Enjoy!

The Damocles Solution 3

The early morning was clear and sunny. The barometric pressure surely had risen overnight. The humidity was relatively low for a change, and the clock sounded its rousing alarm precisely at 7AM.

And most importantly, he was the only one up so far.

For Egon, at least, it was a perfect morning.

A perfect morning…to do more work.

Egon slipped on his spectacles and modified his attire into something more suitable for public presentation. He had already worked through the majority of the previous night on his latest upgrade of Winston's proton pack. It turned out to be a long project in itself, taking into the early morning hours and giving very little time for sleep. This, granted, had an ever-so-slightly souring effect on his temperament. Perhaps the rest of his confidantes would disagree about the "ever-so-slightly" description, but nonetheless it was so. He knew he could manage as long as there were not too many calls about demi-gods attacking major arteries into and out of the city. A few minor demons or simple class IIs, especially if ProbeCorp needed further assisstance or had important information regarding their own minor scourge, would be acceptable as a priority adjustment. He also made a mental note to educate Winston as soon as possible on how to use the new upgrade, and even sooner than that, teach Ray how to recalibrate the finished pack once the new feature is used.

As he entered his lab, the quiet combined hum of the gyroscopic stabilizer, the interspatial ectoplasmic extractor, and the interdimensional gateway interface became his mantra, assissting him in clearing his mind so he could work on the most delicate wires and connection of the endoectoplasmic optical-to-resonance imager, a request of Ray's, already a work in near complete progress.

Picking up the soldering tools, he inspected the interior of the imager. _Hmm, a little too much metal there, that wire could use a backup grounding, there I see a potential problem_

It was a wonderously productive state of mind to be lost in, and before he knew it, an hour and a half had gone gracefully by. _Hmm,_ he stopped for a moment and thought, _Janine is rather later than usual. She likes to get all the paperwork sorted from all the lawsuits we create before the phones ring. _ Though for a moment he remembered that the rest of the guys loved to tease him about that, convinced she had some ulterior motive for stopping in so early. _Ah, but she said she'd be in when she could today—she was having problems with her car and needed to make a morning appointment for repairs because that's what the closest garage would take. _

_Anyway._

_Just a few more wires, and I can begin adjusting the camera. Here, there is a circuit that I think should be made of something less heat-conductive. I'll have to order a different part. That will set me back a few days, but I can do this later. However, maybe I have something that I can repla—_

Egon was cut off mid-mental-sentence by a mind-numbingly awful noise. A thunderous, rhythmic rumbling which shook the very table he was working on, a noise which he knew would made it excruciatingly difficult to concentrate on such delicate wiring.

He instinctively reached over to pick up the PKE meter. No supernatural signal.

Knowing that this was not the work of a spirit, and also knowing it was definitely not the sound of Slimer's stomach, or whatever it was, rumbling (which was provably a bit lower decibel level than this awful cacophony), he hurried to the window. The windowframe shook and strained as he leaned against it with his hands.

He looked down to the street…and sighed, exasperated, with a tad of growl thrown in there to boot. A group of neighborhood teens was having a friendly-seeming boombox showdown. One gigantic music box sat on the ground, the other slung across another rather sturdily-built teen's shoulder. That would have no doubt, he thought, completely toasted his cochlea after a few minutes.

He returned to the lab, resigned to work in misery with the unneeded background noise. _Must finish this project, as then I can potentially alter this device for use in combat._

Not a second went by after seating himself, and someone zoomed out of the bunk room and down the stairs. Egon listened for a moment. _Peter_, he thought to himself. Yes, this definitely was Peter, as in a few moments, Egon could barely make out a few choice words inbetween the thundering beat of both boomboxes together.

"**OH YEAH!**?"

"**WELL YOU CAN**…..!"

"**WHAT**!"

"**NO I AIN'T, PAL**!"

"**TAKE THIS**!"

Egon sat back, relieved. Peter would handle this, in his own way._ Now I can get back to this stubborn wire setup._

Just about to touch red hot solder to delicate wire, a _third_ music system booted up, blasting so loud that the other two systems together couldn't even be heard.

Egon stopped, the soldering tool a half-centimeter before contact, gritting his teeth.

_He actually…turned on…the stereo…in Ecto-1_!

The only thing he could do until either the boys went away, or the police took them _and _Peter away, was wait. He held his head with a hand, and irritably tapped his fingers against the desk.

Soon enough, all was quiet again before the police were summoned on anyone, as Peter seemed to be able to push the envelope as far as it could go without tearing it.

Egon's nerves had only begun to clear. He had absolutely no idea how Winston or Ray slept through that, however, he surmised that if he himself were fast asleep, sometimes the only thing that would rouse him would be the firehouse alarm. _Trained like Pavlov's dog, we are_.

Peter stepped by the lab, stopping to casually lean against the door and slap his hands together as if finished with a dirty job. "I tell ya, Spengs. These kids nowadays are such _pansies_. Their mommies and daddies musta spent big bucks on their little TriBeCa blasters, and Ecto-1 blew 'em away just with the few modifications that Ray and Winston did on 'er." He yawned, statisfied. "One more victorious battle in the war against losing the planet to a weaker generation. I'm goin' back to bed, cuz' that really interrupted my beauty sleep. Nighty-night!"

_Nighty-night, at 8:30 in the morning. That's Peter in a short sentence._

_The wires. Have to get back to the wires._

Relatively settled with soldering tools in hand again, he refocused.

_Where was I? Oh yes. I wonder if there is something around here with which I can replace this circuit. Should I use aluminum? Copper? Maybe steel. Aluminum wouldn't be durable enough. It'd probably-_

Something small and white shot by his eyes, and he saw it long enough to tell that it was a small moth.

_Hmm. _Prodoxus Dicipiens_._

_Nevermind that. The metal on this circuit would probably break under the extreme thermopressure of the system. I calculate that any other metal would last twi-_

_SPLAT! _

…went something on the side of his head, causing him to grunt and almost knocking him off the chair. After recovering, he gritted his teeth and felt his head to try and determine what the Very Offensive Stimulus was caused by.

He didn't have to do any more than feel the slime slowly stretching between his hand and his head. And he knew his entire left side was covered in it.

Glaring across the room, there was Slimer—babbling incoherently, flailing his arms, bent on killing the same intrusive moth that flashed by his eyes earlier.

"_Slimer…_!"

Slimer only had to look at the Glare of Death once from the tall scientist. For all of Peter's yelling and stomping and chasing and fist-waving, it never had the effect of even half of the silent rage of one of Egon's glares. Slimer made a last-ditch, desperate attempt to snatch the moth out of the air, and, succeeding, floated out of the room with a valiant effort to say a cheery "sorry, Egon!" in babble-ese.

Egon was thoroughly annoyed now. There would be no way to do continue this project covered in slime, lest it drip into the sensitive contacts and destroy the whole system. Besides, it was just gross. He placed the tools down, and set off for the shower.

After cleaning off the slime and changing onto a clean tee, he steeled himself, teeth gritted, to focus on the wires.

Minutes went by, and the last contact just refused to hold. He berated himself for not using a stronger substance, thinking instead the quickness of the heat transfer would compensate for the lightness of the metal. He had to take the whole thing out, and after doing so, proceeded to start over, the setback costing him at least another thirty hours' time.

He figured beginning to work on the imaging camera would give the impression of progress, therefore calming his nerves. Placing the camera in front of him, he went to pick up the soldering tools.

SLAM!

…went something on his left again. He noticed it was, granted, more solid than Slimer, and smelled leagues better. However, it still broke his crystalline concentration, and this time, he had had enough.

"_JaNINE_!" he found himself saying with a raised voice, his neck encircled in her arms.

Oblivious to his discomfort, Janine released him and put a book right in front of his nose. "I couldn't wait to show all you guys! I just got this in the mail! Look Egon. It's another book signed personally by Doctor Phil Dendron! And he wrote a letter, saying he gave me a free permanent subscription to his magazine and club too! And the letter sez that…"

Egon grabbed a hold of the book and lowered it so he could talk to Janine's face instead of the publication. "Janine, I usually have to tell _Slimer_ not to interrupt me when I'm doing delicate work. You barged in and I was ready to begin soldering!"

Janine was taken aback this time by his impatience. "So…you're not too excited about Dr. Dendron's stuff?" she said innocently.

"NO, not as of this moment."

She put a hand on her hip. "Well, I'm SORRY! Is there any way to fix it fer ya!" she said, half-sincere, half as annoyed as he was.

"Yes. Simply _do not touch me_ and that will be an excellent start."

"Well, _FINE_." She said, her voice weakening despite her anger. "From now on I will work toward a more professional relationship, and I will await at my desk to be graced with your presence…_Docta Spengler!_ "

She turned on her heel, and sped with heavy footsteps down the stairs.

Egon had to pause for a moment. He could have sworn he saw her wipe her face with her sleeve after she turned away. _I think I did something outrageously stupid just now_, he thought. _And I calculate that there's probably not a solid test in any known textbook to prove that theory._


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Reviews make me SQUEE!

(This chapter revised on Oct. 10, 2010, to fix dumb errors like typos.)

The Damocles Solution 4.

The phone rang on Dr. Albion Tennent's elaborately carved oak desk. Picking it up eagerly, the short but sturdily-built elderly sociologist spoke his name, and, smiling, awaited for the reply.

"Doctor Tennent?"

"Hmmm, yeeeeees?" he answered slowly, absentmindedly straightening the black-and-gold name placard behind the phone receiver. "And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"This is Dolores Aracelli. I am calling to tell you of an extremely important dinner you are to attend. I will also be there. So will the other. You and the other are to receive your phone invitations to this event as of today."

The Doctor recognized the speaker's name. A shudder ran through him, as he needed no more than her name to know exactly what she was referencing. "Hm. Ah, yes, Mrs. Aracelli. I do understand. So I am to take it that the whole meal is, therefore, rather to be considered a farce compared to your little after-dinner tete-a-tete between myself, you, and my former student? That is, if I understand your veiled references clearly-"

"More, shall we say, _background noise_…than anything else. I have seen things I cannot repeat over the phone. I _must_ speak to each of you, together and privately. It is an urgent matter. It will not intrude upon your time by an unforgiveable degree; I am very close to where the event will be held. Just make sure you get to the affair. I have heard that the coodinator is rather _generous _with his fellow associates, especially when the event is to discuss paranormal matters." She laughed. It was the laugh of a mature woman who has seen many, many years go by, but also contained a spark of an undying child within her. "Doctor, I heard that the dessert itself will be worth your travel expenses, which for you, will be quite high, as you will have to cross the Atlantic to do so. Please do attend so we may have some tea together."

The man smiled. "Dessert would be a welcome distraction from _that matter_."

"Most certainly."

"Very well, then," he said with a smile, but also a rather brusque finality. "I will respond to this invitation promptly, and arrange private transportation, so I may discuss this issue with you, and therefore ruin my entire luxurious night."

He would have hung up there and then, if he did not hear a firm "Oh, and…Doctor!" on the other end of the line.

"Hmmm? Yes, Mrs. Aracelli?"

"Do not consider this a tete-a-tete. Consider it more of a…_prescription _for the future."

"Yes, madam. Thank you for your gracious call."

"You're most welcome, sir. I await your audience, and that of your former student, too."

Dr. Tennent placed the phone on the receiver. He twined his fingers together and brought them up to his mustacioed face, in deep, agitated, unnerved thought.

He eyes scanned the sheer number of doctorate plaques, honorary memberships, and various other certificates of knowledge that lined the walls of his University office, but his thoughts made him look right through them, than _at _them.

"I felt its presence leave. I know it was brought, then sent away. I thought the trouble in New York City was the end of it. Obviously, she doesn't think so. I'd never thought anyone would seriously _ever _consider using it. I never thought I'd have to deal with Ragnarok _ever_ again," he whispered to himself, horrified.


	5. Chapter 5

The Damocles Solution 5

"'ey, Janine, ya think you can slap on the firehouse alarm and get Peter outta bed?" Winston turned up a corner of his mouth, smiling sarcastically as he fumbled with the new, heavier proton gun. "Seems that it's the only thing that's gonna get his day started now."

"Naaaaaah," said the redhead, who was purposely not looking over the top of her beginner's algebra book at the two men, and a third in particular, working across the room. "Though you don't wanna know how bad I want to do that again. When I did that before he began shootin' his mouth off how he'll cut my pay if I hit the alarm with no ghost to catch." She flipped a page. "And besides, I just don't want him to start thinkin' that alarm was installed in this place solely for his benefit."

Winston raised a hand in defeat. "Points taken, m'lady."

She turned to Slimer next to her, who had previously floated in from the kitchen, finished eating everything not nailed down. "Isn't that right, Slimer?" she said with a playful, crafty smile.

Slimer babbled in agreement before pretending to take another look at her desk, covered again with books. There was the latest book from Doctor Phil Dendron, _Geraniums – And More Tales of Love and Loss_ on the corner, and attracted by the bright cover, he moved himself above it.

Janine raised a finger warningly at him. "Don't go near that book from Dr. Dendron, Slimer. That's a personally signed copy and I don't want any slime I can't get off on it!"

Slimer nodded vigorously in agreement, and resumed his place over her shoulder, scratching his head and stroking his many chins in utter confusion at her algebra book.

Winston turned to Egon. "So lemme get this straight, this is an ectoplasmic sniper rifle now?" He looked up and down the gun, impressed, from what he could grasp of Ray and Egon's technical dissertation on its use, but not looking forward to getting used to carrying more weight.

"Yes, you could say that. It now, in effect, has that option. And right now, just leave it as an option you will _not_ want to use very often." Said Egon with his usual gravity.

"Is it gonna go boom if I shoot it?"

"I estimate that there is a very good chance you can get away with maybe ten plasma shots before it should be recalibrated . Constant recalibration will be needed to keep it from overheating, and, eventually, exploding itself and anything near it in a half-mile radius."

Ray chuckled. "No need for an overload button on this pack!"

Winston shot Ray a serious half-glare. "I _prefer _to keep an overload button on this baby, cuz' it'll give me the mistaken comfort that I'm just shooting and _not_ overloading it. Now, go over that stuff again with me in case I missed somethin'."

Egon gracefully ignored the overload button banter and addressed Winston. "In essence, what I said was that instead of a stream, this feature compresses the energy discharged into a single, bullet-sized mass. At that point, it stops resembling a proton wave and becomes more of a kind of molten plasma. I assume it would be good immediately after firing, to set it back to stream and keep firing to make sure it returns to stasis. "

He gently took the gun out of Winston's hands and demonstrated. "I made the scope you chose for yourself detachable, and it fits in this slot of your pack. Also I have a sort of spring-loaded buffering cushion that'll fit over your shoulder. The kickback from this, I calculate, will be incredible."

"Wow guys. Why just just make a tank and roll in there with that?"

Ray grinned, his face becoming eerily fox-like. "Hey, you're pretty good! That's a future project we're thinking of working on! Isn't it?" he said, turning to the tall physicist.

Egon's answer was a slight upturned corner of his mouth, and a mischievious glint in his icy blue eyes as he replaced the scope on the gun.

Janine rolled her eyes hard from behind the book. _Oh my gawd. A tank. Talk about new ways to do stupid things. _ _But,_ she sighed as she thought, _boys will be boys_.

_And they better be smart enough to let _**me**_ try it when it's done._

With all the enthusiasm of a ten-year-old, Ray pointed at Winston. "Wanna help us work on it? You can even be the first to try it in combat if you want, too!"

"Uh, nah, man. Bein' the guinea pig for this new thing is quite enough for now!" answered Winston with a rather fearful wave of his hand.

The phone rang, and Janine picked it up. "Ghostbustas—spooks happen, so we zap 'em and we trap 'em!" Setting down the book, the three men could see the smug smile on her face as she tried out a new line. Slimer laughed and cheered when she winked at him.

Ray, Winston, and Egon stopped and groaned simultaneously. "She must stay up all night and think of stuff like that to say," added Winston dryly.

Her face fell as the unknown speaker continued, which made her scribble furiously at the notepad in front of her. After a couple of rather perturbed "say it again?"s, "uh-huh"s and "yep"s, and a final "I'll pass along the message", she simply hung up, and resumed reading her book, kicking her leg as was her habit when irritated.

Peter, in the meantime, had finally arisen and changed, and made it halfway down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and barely grunting out a "whozonth'phone".

"Nobody," answered Janine with a quick, dismissive tone.

"Was it my girlfriend?" asked Winston.

"Was it my aunt?" asked a worried and concerned Ray. "I dunno how my aunt will be feeling this year and the faire back home is soon—"

"Not fer either of you," snapped Janine.

Winston persisted. "Was it a job? An emergency? A ghost?"

"Nah."

Egon took a moment to clean the lenses of his glasses. "It is entirely inappropriate for a secretary to not tell us what the phone call was."

Winston shrugged. "If it's not an emergency, and it ain't a job, and no one won the lottery, who cares? It was probably a crank call. That's what we have a secretary for."

"I beg to differ," said the tallest man. "Peter?"

Rubbing his eyes, he slipped past them all and plopped into his chair. "Janine? Did I win the lottery?"

"No, Doctor Venkman."

"Then carry on."

Smiling smugly at Egon, Janine continued perusing her book. A thought crossed her mind that sometimes Dr. Venkman was indeed useful. She then reconsidered, as he probably already figured out a little of just went on this morning, resulting in her now unusual formality with Egon, and was simply having a grand old time seeing Egon—no, seeing _both of them_-squirm a little. Damn him and damn his psychology expertise.

And squirm Egon did. Expecting support from his long-time friend, and not receiving it, he looked rather like someone who had just discovered he forgot to put his britches on that morning.

Recovering, he cleared his throat. "Janine, please let us know what the call was about," he said, replacing his glasses and _formulating _his words, more than speaking them.

Janine sighed. "Here, Slimer, please take this message over to _Dr. Spengler_. It's in shorthand, but I am certain that Dr. Spengler is well-versed in it. It'd be more…_pro-fesh-un-al_…than handing it myself."

Egon's recovery was futile. Slimer docily brought the note over to the wide-eyed, stiffened scientist, who now seemed as if he were just slapped. The little green ghost floated back over to Janine, who laughingly opened up the top drawer of her desk and threw a still-wrapped candy into his eager mouth.

The flush slowly drained from Egon's face as he scanned the now-very-slimed note.

Ray, who had been exchanging glances and shrugs with Winston the whole time, finally broke the silence. "So? What is it? Is it a crank call?"

Egon's face grew darker. "I have been invited to a dinner in the Hamptons sponsored by the Eastern Paranormal Interest Coterie, and I may bring one guest."

Ray's mouth fell open. "Woooooow…the Hamptons, home of some of the most expensive zip codes in the US!"

Egon looked at each of them in turn. "Ray? Peter? Winston? Are you interested in going? The dinner event is in three days; the lectures and meetings begin in two."

Peter clopped his feet on top of his desk, and leaned back, always trying to test how far he could go without falling over. "Jeez, two days? Don't these fru-fru-shee-shee people consider that there are people, _that don't have people_ to rearrange their livesfor them or something?" Peter complained as a resounding knock was heard at the front doors. Janine promptly got up to answer.

Winston waved the invitation off. "No way. What happens in ghostbustin', stays in ghostbustin'. I'm sure I won't get a single word anyone says about anything anyway."

Ray sighed. "Well, I can't go, I'll be leaving later tonight because I promised my aunt I'd be there for her. Sorry, but…this time, my family is number one. I wanna keep my schedule pretty clear when I get back, too, because I'm telling her I want to get a call the second she needs anything. I asked Peter to go, too, so I guess he has a choice here."

Peter closed his eyes, considering. "Gee, Ray, should I go to a faire, which promises myriads of girls in hot weather appropriate clothing, or should I go to an overstuffed meeting featuring women who insist on bringing travel irons in case their dutifully closed top button wrinkles?"

Egon looked puzzled. "I'm sure it can't be that bad, Peter."

Returning from answering the door, Janine accompanied two men up to her desk. One was recognised as the Chief of Police, the other a stately man in a long dark trench coat, strangely pushing a shopping cart of envelopes.

Not missing a beat, Peter turned to the visitors. "How 'bout you guys help me decide? Would you wanna go to a faire or would ya wanna go to a penguin summit where people give you dirty looks for not using the correct fork for your olives?"

The police chief grinned. "Let me decide that fer ya, Doctor Venkman. Here in Mr. Martin Stanford's cart we have lots of things you can do, and it will definitely take more than three days."

The man in the suit and trench coat pushed a bit on the cart. "I am Martin Stanford, as you have heard. And, Dr. Venkman, I am acting as an agent of the court, to serve you these subpoenas to appear as an expert witness. The city has run into issues with multiple landowners on Fifth Avenue and needs your expert testimony in defending the necessity of your elimination methods."

Peter lost his balance, fell over, and ran over to the shopping cart. "WHAT! You mean to tell me these are all COURT CASES I hafta DO! Because of that thing on Fifth Avenue!"

Still smiling, the police chief pointed at Peter. "That's right, kiddo. You're the talking head for this group, and you're the one that's gonna clear up this little mess for the city. I suggest you call both the girls and the penguins and tell 'em you have other plans." He gave the court rep a light pat on the arm. "Let's go so they can think about how they're gonna rearrange their prom dates, Mr. Stanford."

Peter desperately opened a letter or two, hoping that this was some very sick joke. After reading a few of them, he turned to Egon. "Spengs, you're the thinking brain if I'm the talking head. Look at these! You gotta tell the court you'll do some of these. Some are even at the exact same time!"

"I cannot until I go to the meeting, Peter. I will handle some when I get back from the trip," answered the physicist.

Peter walked over to him, infuriated. "You're gonna wine and dine with a bunch of snooty, dust-encrusted farts while I'm here getting fried to a crisp because the city had an overpowered class 7 on Fifth Avenue and now it's OUR problem they called US!"

Egon was now genuinely annoyed at his comrade's thoughtless accusation. He crossed his arms, and looked down at Peter, his sheer hight making himself look, indeed, rather threatening. But of course, Peter was one fo the very few people in the world that could push him to that point. "The two names on this paper that requested my presence at this affair are none other than the two people, along with myself, who have the ability to decode the Ragnarok spells. One name is the gentleman that taught me how to decode the heiroglyphs. This could be an issue of national, if not world, importance_. I must go_."

Of all the eyes that went wide on hearing that, none were wider than Janine's.


	6. Chapter 6

Note: I don't own the 'Busters (and Janine), I just wish I did. :oP

The Damocles Solution 6

Peter turned down his mouth, lips pressed tight together. He turned around and rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Well, you go on your little escapade in the Hamptons if ya want, Spengs. I'll be here bleeding to death from the hundred thousand paper cuts I'm gonna get from this cart of envelopes." He picked up a bunch of envelopes in each hand, raising them above his head. "Why me! Why now!" he exclaimed in supplication to a cruel God.

Winston turned to Peter, taking off the newly modified proton pack and seating himself with Ray. "If ya need some help with those, Peter, I can take some of 'em. I'm not as techy as Ray or Egon but I can sure show 'em a full trap if they wanna see one."

Peter spun around, eyes glittering from thankfulness. "Janine, give this man a ten percent bonus next time he busts a ghost."

"I can take some along on my trip with me, too, Peter," offered Ray. "I'm not going to be gone for long but I can open a few envelopes here and there."

Egon nodded. "As can I."

The psychologist turned a suspicious eyebrow upwards. "You guys said that out of sheer unbridled love for me, and not because of some silly bonus, am I correct?"

Winston ignored the question and turned to Egon, giving everyone a sigh of relief. "Hey, you said you can take one with ya. We all have somethin' to do here. So," he pried, leaning forward suggestively, "who'zit gonna be?"

"And if any part of you has the nerve to say Slimer I'm gonna take that shiny new blastie toy you made for Winston and wrap it around yer neck," threatened Peter as he dug through the shopping cart, causing Slimer to babble angrily and cross his little arms in contempt, finishing with a punctuated "hmph!"

Egon uncrossed a hand and stroked his mouth in thought. "Well, I know some of the local paranormal enthusiasts would love to attend this gathering."

Winston's palm covered his face for a moment listening.

The physicist continued, oblivious. "They might learn quite a lot of information. I think my best route is someone from the organization that gathers in the basement of—"

"Sidebar, man," said the large dark man, suddenly getting up with a sigh. Winston tapped Egon on the arm to beckon him to another room.

"Sidebar?" parroted a confused Egon, but followed Winston into the kitchen anyway.

Janine shot a glance over her book at Winston and Egon. "Hmph," she breathed to herself. _I know what he's gonna try and do. It's a valiant effort, but I'm better than that! Doesn't matter how many times we did stuff together over the last few weeks. Egon can stew in his own brew for now. Chivalry may not be dead yet, but I still ain't going._

In the kitchen, Winston went to the fridge to pull out the water pitcher.

"You, my man, are in the doghouse."

Leaning aginst the wall cooly with arms crossed, Egon raised an eyebrow. "Certainly this firehouse may confuse someone as to how we possibly make it our surrogate abode for the majority of our time, but I'd say it's rather offensive to outright call it a doghouse."

After pouring himself a glass of water and placing it in the nearest counter, Winston put his hands up and shook his head. He had to remember who he was talking to. "No. No, no, no. Figuratively. What I meant was, somethin' happened, and she's annoyed, and you gotta man up and fix it."

Egon stiffened in realization. "I—I know there is a complication. But…w—what do I do?"

The dark man pointed at his head. "Use that awesome noggin of yours to guide you." He winked. "I know you can do it. If you can do all kinds of crazy proofs and calculus and algebra, you can figure out the next best thing to do."

Leaving the kitchen, Winston helped himself to a seat, and Egon cautiously approached Janine's desk, step by step. He looked at her, hands in pockets. He obviously would've rather been doing advanced calculus at this time.

Suddenly, his eyes brightened. He cleared his throat, and said cautiously, "Janine? W—would you like to accompany me to the Hamptons for the upcoming occasion?"

Janine didn't even move her book. "_No way_, Doctor Spengler. Yanno what people'll think of us if they see an employer and his secretary alone on a multiple day trip together: not very professional."

Peter, who had flopped down in a seat himself, started opening up envelopes with a pen he helped himself to from Janine's desk. "Maybe if you emphasize the word _HAMPTONS_ enough, she'll quit acting like she's a cheap date."

"I want my pen back, Doctor Venkman," growled the redhead. "And I don't think I'll blend in very well, either. My table manners are positively uncouth, and unrefined, as you've seen from my family upbringing."

Egon, shot down faster than a condemned man, looked deathly pale, but did not escape Winston's attention. Winston read the helpless look in his eyes, unusual for someone like Egon. Like he was giving a team baseball signals, Winston signed to him to calm down, and then pointed to his head.

Egon scanned her desk for any aid he might receive, and finally finding it, a proverbial halogen light bulb flashed over his head. It was time for Round Two. "I—I can get the host to seat Dr. Phil Dendron next to you," he added timidly.

After a long pregnant pause, Janine raised one of her eyebrows, then set the book partway down. She looked up at the blond scientist incredulously, which made him take a gasping step back, terrified.

She returned to her book. "Guess I'm gonna have to buy a new pair of shoes. And earrings, gotta have earrings. And maybe a clutch purse." She slapped down the book, now glowing in excitement. "And, hey! I should take along all of Doctor Dendron's books too! Great idea, Melnitz! I can even reread them along the way!" She glared at Egon, pointing at him. "That means _you're_ driving. And…"

Winston caught Egon's attention, and gave him a hearty, but hidden, thumbs up. _Good job, man_, he mouthed to the physicist, who now looked over his spectacles at him, leaning heavily against the shelving in back of her desk, looking very much like he was ready to pass out.


	7. Chapter 7

The Damocles Solution, chapter 7.

Janine closed the door of the firehouse with a hip. "Coming!" she yelled, trying to balance the heavy stack of plant psychology books carefully in her arms. "Outta my way, Doctor Venkman," she ordered, reaching the door of the car. "Or you'll replace every single one of these books for me, complete with signatures!"

"Too bad Ray isn't here to see you the two of you off," said Winston warmly.

"But I'm sure after a few candy apples he'll realize he's just fine where he is," added Peter, leaning in the passenger window of Janine's car, then moving out of her way just in the nick of time—purposely.

"I don't know, Peter," Egon thought out loud as he waiting behind the steering wheel of Janine's car. "Faire food gets considerably more expensive every year. Soon fairegoers will have to take out small loans in order to enjoy their day."

Peter waved a hand dismissively as Janine placed her books carefully inside, climbed in and closed the door. "Aaah. He's the guest of honor every time he goes now. He gets everything for free. Maybe he can even rock the boat a little and keep the prices down for everyone. He's a Power to the People kinda guy, yanno."

Egon turned to Janine and took the car out of park. "Shall we?"

Raising her eyebrows, Janine avoided eye contact. "Yes, Doctor Spengler. We can be on our way now."

The car started to pull away, but Peter took a few steps forward, staying astride the car. "Hey! Spengs!" he called through the window.

The car came to a sudden halt. "Yes?" Egon asked with an eyebrow raised.

Peter leaned in again. "I got two words for ya when you get to the hotel, Big Guy." He pointed at Janine, to her confusion. "_Hands off_."

Egon sat, stunned, and ever so slightly flushed as the car idled. Janine drew back a fist, but when she let it loose, the psychologist saw it coming a mile away and dodged it with ease by leaning way back, grinning more broadly than the Cheshire cat ever could.

As they pulled away, Peter waved them off innocently. All Winston saw through the back window was Janine flailing her arms, no doubt giving Peter more than a few Brooklyn blessings.

"Yanno, I hope he can drive after that," Winston cooly observed.

* * *

Within the doors of the firehouse again, Peter yawned. He picked up a few more envelopes out of the shopping cart left there from the day before, now only about half as full as it was when it arrived. He made his way over to Janine's desk, and, to Winston's shock, sat down in her chair.

Incredulous, Winston regarded Peter, wide-eyed. "What are you gonna do? Be the temp secretary or somethin'?"

"As a matter of fact, my dear Mr. Zeddemore, yes—_we_ will. I refuse to go through the long, arduous hiring process just to have someone answer the phones for a day or two, only to have him or her running out the door screaming their heads off, and then have to start all over again. "

"And you just don't want to have to pay anybody else."

Peter clopped his feet on her desk, knowing she wouldn't like that when she got back. "Well, yeah. That…that too."

To Peter's pleasure, the phone rang loudly and solidly thereafter. Peter removed his feet from Janine's desk, cleared his throat, and adjusted his tie. "Listen to this sales pitch," he said to Winston with a wink before picking up the receiver.

"Ghostbusters. Basic rate is fifteen hundred, return trips are free if we don't have a catch the first time. Half up front, but hey, we'll knock off a couple dollars if you're cute, female, and single...and-" the sound of a loud and very frightened voice cut him off. "Where? At the factory on South Second?…Ooooookaaaaay, but just to warn you, we're running a little low on avaliable Busters right now due to other engagements." He listened again. "Sounds like we can two-man it, which means we'll cut the price in half, but we'll only be able to take cash or check as payment, and you'll have to read and sign a short document that-"

Winston could hear the agitated caller from where he sat. "_You guys! JUST GET HERE_!" he made out distinctly, making Peter pull the phone away from his ear, then give the caller a terse "Okberightthere," and hanging up the phone.

"Yeesh." Said Peter as he headed lazily toward the closets.

"Aren't you gonna hit the alarm?" asked Winston dryly.

"Naaaaah. That, my friend, is a woman's work."

Winston sighed and headed over to the uniform closet himself_. Janine would have his head for so many different things, all in a matter of a few minutes she's gone. Well, at least Ray'll be back tomorrow night so I don't have to deal with this myself for too long!_

_

* * *

_

"Well, here we are, my man," said Winston as they pulled up to the factory doors.

"A…yo-yo factory," astutely observed Peter. He slapped his forehead, and it made a loud _crack!_ in the Ecto-1. "Tell me, Winston, how elegant my job is. I went from body parts to kids' toys here."

"Hey! Don't knock yo-yos. Ray rolls a mean 'Walkin' the Dog', ya know."

A short, bearded man ran up to them as they exited the car. "In the factory! It's posessed! It halted production! It's destroying all the wood and string! This is awful!"

"Heeeeey," smoothly answered Peter. "At least you won't offend Pinocchio if he happens to pop in. No strings is a very good thing for him, yaknow."

"Please! Please just get rid of it!" begged the man.

They made their way cautiously into the factory. It was eerily silent; no machines were able to run while the factory still contained the entity.

Winston manned the PKE meter in Ray and Egon's absence. "Looks like a class five. According to this thing it's a pretty strong signal." He turned to Peter, concerned. "You think two packs could be enough for this?"

Peter shrugged. "I dunno. I say we give it the old Tri Kuppa Bru go. Maybe that tweaking on your gun will do the job. Did either Ray or Egon say how strong the shots were?"

"The Mad Scientist said that one shot is equal to three an' a half packs on max setting."

"Whoa. Pretty neat," Peter said, rubbing his hands together in glee. "Think of the money we can make if we can solo class fives when Spengs mass-produces those things!"

"Peter, this tech is reeeeally experimental. Let's see what it does before you start on any a' your pipe dreams."

They rounded a turn into the long packing and shipping room. "Hey! All I wanna do is make some money. I'm not asking for anything ridiculous like being made a real little boy or anything."

Winston came to a halt, putting away the PKE meter with one hand and holding an arm out and stopping Peter with the other. "Dead ahead! Comin' this way! Duck!" They hit the ground as, soon enough, a huge yo-yo rolled through the air right over them, taking the wind with it. "Dang, this new pack is kinda heavy," complained Winston.

Peter was the first to spring to his feet. "On max! Hit it now!"

Their dual beams lit up the entire factory, briefly obscuring the entity. They were sure they pumped enough energy to stun it-until they both caught each other's eyes. Something was very wrong.

They cancelled their beams, and were now looking at two separate rotating discs in the air. With unfriendly-looking, metallic-like projections coming out of the sides.

"It's stronger, and it's now split in two!" observed Winston, his PKE meter jumping.

"Well, ya know how some of these cheap toys are made. Domestics are really going downhill. I'd expect that if it were an import. They fall apart, they wear out, they're steeped in lead, they—"

"Split up! It's going after each of us now!"

With desperate hollers, they went their separate ways, each with a spinning ghostly saw blade dead set on their tails.

Buzzing after Peter, the posessed wooden disc cut through machinery, shipping conveyor belts, and stacks of shipping material with ease. Peter had to dodge and weave the whole terrifying time, but when he saw an almost ceiling-high stack of cardboard shipping boxes, he snapped his fingers and winked. _Oh, yeah, leave this to Venkman! _He thought.

Leaping over machinery, purposely getting to the stack of cardboard, he jumped to the top of the stack with a grunt, and up and over it he went, catching the plastic packaging to break his fall on the way down again.

It only took seconds for the entity to buzz through the cardboard, but in the processs, it sent waves and waves of pulverized material all over, creating a rather useful sight-obscuring cardboard dust cloud.

Sensing an opening, Peter opened more distance between himself and the entity, turned around on a dime and shot the pursuing entity on max yet again. His mouth fell to the floor in horror, as the shot had zero effect. "Oh noooooooo," he moaned before bolting yet again.

The two men met up in the middle of the mailing room, and the dual entities rejoined. Winston immediately noticed a change for the better in the PKE meter.

The metallic blades retracted and the giant yo-yo started rolling after them, crushing machinery in its way. "Hey! I got somethin'!" yelled Winston, guiding them through a narrow hallway.

"Pinocchio won't be here to help us today?" yelled back Peter. "You better make sure you're not lyin'! We have ways to make you tell the truth!"

They hid inside a break room, and slammed the door, locking and barracading it. The huge toy banged at the wall viciously.

"Boy! I wish the Mad Scientist were here to think us outta this mess! Aaaagh!" desperately cried Peter with a rising tone.

Winston had to talk fast; the door wouldn't hold for long. He began flipping switches on his pack, and attached the sniper scope. "He IS here…in a way," he said, pointing to the PKE meter, and then holding up his modified gun. "Okay, getting' into Egon's egghead for a sec here, I am seein' that that thing is actually _weaker _when it's joined together. That means we gotta keep it that way. You keep it busy for just the coupla seconds it's gonna take for me to switch this over to single shot. We can't use two streams until it's weak enough, because it'll just split again."

Peter went white as a sheet. "KEEP IT BUSY!"

"Hey, Ray handled ProbeCorp, Egon handled that thing on Fifth and I handled the one at the army training center, it's your turn, my man!"

Peter roared in rage, but still steeled himself, and ran out of the half-destroyed door. "Hey! You! Best place for you is guest thread-holder for the yearly quilting competition!" he taunted the entities.

The conjoined entities howled at the insult. They rolled down the hallway after Peter, recklessly banging and smashing the narrow hallway in their pursuit. Winston followed, still flipping switches, but easily staying out of sight due to the longer range of the modified gun.

Peter ran through the mailing room again, and, slipping on a yo-yo which had been lying on the floor, was sent flying, then sliding into the far wall with a pained grunt.

When he recovered, all he could see was a gigantic yo-yo, coming after him from precious few yards away.

With a terrified cry, Peter shrank into the wall. The entities were almost on top of him.

"_Winston_! This! _IS! NOT_! a very sexy way to die!" he yelled, becoming enveloped in the dark shadow of the oversized, posessed toy.

And suddenly, he heard a sound that resembled a lightning strike at very low pitch. The entities stopped, glowing a hot white, suspended in the air right above him, screaming and roaring in agony.

Peter used the borrowed time to scoot away from the entities' path, running toward Winston far down the hall from him.

He found Winston on one knee, the end of his gun smoking.

The glow around the entities faded out, and they sunk to the floor, exhausted. Winston stood up again, flipped more switches, and yelled a quick "Traps! Fire! NOW!"

It worked this time, the entity having been thoroughly weakened by the single shot. It was all too easy this time to guide both downward into the awaiting traps. Each one was sucked in by its appropriate trap, and the doors closed with a snap, then a steaming hiss.

Winston made a few large circles with his shoulder. "Man, Egon was right. Kickback on this this is somethin' to get used to!" Holding up a trap, he grinned broadly. "At least I know now what I'm in for!" He turned to Peter. "So…where's the next one?"

Peter 's shoulders dropped as he limped back toward the car, exhausted. "Can't we just get paid, get Ray a complimentary platinum-limited-edition-whateverdamned yo-yo and leave now?"

* * *

The tiny car zipped along the northeastern highway, heading steadily towards the Hamptons, the scenery getting more and more beautifully suburban, the stuffy city blocks becoming single-standing houses along the way, each house becoming more grandiose. Eventually, the cramped streets turned into tree-lined avenues of gate-guarded mansions of all period styles.

This was nothing new to Egon. His own parents had a home that closely resembled the more expensive domiciles that passed by them on their travels; however, he heard Janine oo-ing and ah-ing more than once as she took in the architectural beauty of each new mansion. Still looking out the window in amazement, she even once commented to him breathlessly, and also rather absent-mindedly, that she wished that she bought herself _some_ sort of etiquette book along with that last shipmentful of mystery books she offered to order for Winston. And her girly calendar.

Egon had already removed his sportjacket, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt a bit, and rolled up his sleeves at various stoplights thoughout their travels. He was considering removing his vest next. Not only did he find the car rather cramped for his long legs and height, he found the temperature to be increasingly unbearably warm, and this greatly puzzled him; he was rather comfortable, or at least _not un-comfortable_, all day long. Adjusting the air conditioner again, he listened to the occasional long squeak of Janine's highlighter, which she was using to help her remember important passages of each book she reviewed when she wasn't taking the sights of the mansions or snapping her fingers to music on her headphones.

They continued on in silence; this gave Egon the opportunity to consider some sort of plan when they arrived. At least he knew where the hotel was and the dinner arrangements thereof; he had gone through so many loops and cut through so much red tape just to make sure Doctor Dendron was not only attending, but also seated next to Janine at table, he was pleasantly surprised when his request for separate hotel rooms was also fulfilled. And he almost fell over, too.

No doubt that on the first day there, and probably well into the second, his time would be used by answering hundreds of questions about his technological creations, comparing notes, and visiting other extremely prominent scientists and other cosmopolitan figures that were no doubt also lodging at the same hotel. In fact, this was one of the purposes of leaving so early—for members of EPIC to convene and have their own private seminars and discussions before the dinner, with more to follow afterward. Janine would have more than enough to look at; she'd probably be too thrilled to worry about much, since she was now able to be seated next to her literary idol, though Egon was sure that knowing Janine, sight-seeing and shopping, or at least _window_-shopping, would take up most of the time before the dinner.

He thought about the two figures that specifically asked about his presence there over the phone; just in the mere mention of their names, he was sure this was the entire idea behind this dinner; it was simply an elaborate excuse to get the three people that knew how to decode the Ragnarock spells and glyphs together under the same roof without causing too much suspicion. He lowered his brow in concern, and soon saw in the very short distance that their last exit was coming up.

He had to guess that Jeremy was taught by one of the elder mystics he was about to dine with; he just wasn't quite sure which one had taught him. He hadn't kept up with Tennent in years since his training, and had to this day never had an opportunity to meet Aracelli, nor ever desired to; Ragnarock was something in the darkest corner of his nightmares, and quite often making machinery at three in the morning was what kept his mind from dwelling on such things. He would make sure he found out who taught Jeremy when he got there.

Though DiTillio was very much alive, the words of Cindy's letter kept ringing in his head with the heavy weight of a changed man's final wish: "_…he rests in the hope that anyone who would have access to information of this nature be granted such on the merits of his soul and personality and not necessarily on the size of his interest in the occult._"

Lost in thought, he was unaware at first of Janine suddenly throwing up her hands. "I can't take it anymore!" she suddenly exclaimed.

Looking over at her for what seemed to be the first time since they left, he saw that she was shivering, swaddled tightly in his light brown sportcoat, which was obviously many sizes too large for her. The jacket was hooded over her head like a babushka. "Egon, it is absolutely _freezing_ in here!" She reached over to the control panel and cut the air conditioner off.

He apologized profusely, and, fumbling around, finally opened the window next to him. The outside air, at this point, was measurably warmer than what was coming out of the car. Too warm for him, but that was not the issue at stake as of this moment.

Returning both hands to the wheel, he suddenly grit his teeth, and looked out the back window for a desperate second.

"Nuts."

"What?" Janine asked, worried. "Are we being followed by someone or…or some_thing_?"

"No….I—uh…I missed the exit."

Janine rolled her eyes, and flipped over to the next page in her book.


	8. Chapter 8

Note: Reviews make me SQUEE! ^_^

The Damocles Solution 8.

Time stopped for Janine after getting the temperature of the car back to normal. Now that it was possible to do things without shivering, she was able to relax and amuse herself again by listening to some of her favorite tunes on the portable radio. Luckily for her, the station was on a long commercial-free segment, and she was thrilled to snap her fingers to one song after another with very little input from either the DJ or commercials. _Who listens to that stuff anyway?_ She thought.

The tunes rolled by, and the DJ announced that this time, they'd have to stop to break for some important announcements. "Ya know we love ya folks, but we gotta do this or our station is outta business!" he said, almost answering Janine's thoughts.

She turned her mouth down, perturbed. _Yeah, yeah yeah. Well, that was a pretty long segment anyway, coulda been worse!_ she thought. _At least they didn't play the same song fifty times in a row like they usually do…I get sick of pop songs pretty fast when that happens._

"Janine?…_Janine_!" prompted a muffled bass voice at her right.

Just as soon as she was ready to tune in again, she heard a loud rap at the window along with her name right aside her. Shocked by the sudden intrusion of reality, she snapped her head to the side…and there was Egon, ready to open the door. She never even noticed they were stopped.

He stepped back, away from the window…and she sat, wide-eyed, at the gorgeous hotel she could now see the car was parked in front of.

"Woooooooow….." she breathed to herself as he reached for the handle. "Dr. Venkman would _never_ be able to give me enough of a raise to cover somethin' like this!" She frowned in realization. "Not like I don't _deserve_ it, though."

Egon opened the door for her, and once again, she had to focus. _Oh yeah, gotta get outta here. _She turned off her radio, brought her headphones down around her neck, and laughed at her own distraction, saying "oops" softly to herself. She stepped out when the door was opened for her.

He closed the door. He already had all their things from the car unpacked, impatient to wait for the very busy hotel staff. He e He Hslung his sportcoat over a shoulder, and commenced waiting, along with Janine, for the escort employees and valet, all very preoccupied with other guests.

Janine couldn't resist gawking at the beautiful architecture of the hotel while they waited. "This is just…gorgeous. Is the dinner in here?"

"Yes. The dining hall is on the second floor, our rooms are on the fourth." Said Egon dryly as he flipped his wrist around to look at his watch, unimpressed by the extravagance of their surroundings.

"Doctor Egon Spengler!" a soft-voiced, scholarly elderly gentleman exclaimed in a cheery tone, approaching Egon with bounding steps, hand outstretched.

"Mr. Baranov. Pleasure to meet you," said Egon, taking his hand and returning a firm, formal handshake. "I would like to express my uncomparable gratitude for accomodating my rather difficult requests for this occasion."

Baranov put his hands in his pockets, frowning off Egon's remark. "Nonsense." His smile was warm, sincere, and infectious. Janine already considered him a wonderful host; he made her feel at home, regardless of how out-of-place she now felt. "It is an honor to have you at EPIC's yearly meeting. Your experiences with the paranormal, and the machinery along with it, are unparalleled by anyone in the world, and I hope you won't mind the many minds that will be eager to seek out your consultation."

Egon smiled…genuinely. "Small price to pay for your extensive graciousness."

Baranov turned to Janine. "And who, may I ask, is this lovely young lady?"

"Oh! Miss Janine Melnitz. Secretary," she answered, as Baranov reached over to her, and to her surprise, lifted her hand, giving the back of it a most chivalrous kiss.

"Wonderful to meet you!"

She grinned unabashedly. "Pleasure is all mine, sir."

He continued to hold her hand. "I hope you enjoy your stay, Miss Melnitz. I also hope that you'll walk out of dinner tomorrow not being able to eat another spoonful." He released her hand, said a final "good day!" and hurried toward the hotel.

Janine couldn't help but touch her fingers to her face girlishly. "Oh my gawd, he's so _sweet_!"

"He also, from what I understand, works closely with the military regarding Area 51," added Egon confidentially.

The hotel employees arrived, and Egon handed the valet the keys. The attendants took their things, after receiving a stern warning from him to handle Janine's signed books carefully. His concern made Janine stop for a second and consider forgiving him for his outburst at the firehouse, but she quickly squelched that idea, as painful as it was to do so, and decided that it wasn't time for her to do that quite yet.

They walked toward the grand marble stairs, and into the elegant foyer, Janine remaining in constant amazement at the hotel's beauty, taking in everything from the plush carpets to the crystalline chandeliers that hung suspended high above their heads…and this was just the foyer!

"Wow," answered Janine. "I can just imagine all the neat things the guests here would know about!" Avoiding eye contact with Egon, she couldn't help but add, "I should make my way around the tables at dinner so I can pick up a few smart things."

Egon's brow contracted. He seemed uncomfortable. "Janine, have you ever read about Damocles' sword?"

She turned to him, interested. "Damocles' sword? Izzat some kinda new big-hair metal group or somethin'?"

"Uh…no," he answered, taken aback for a second. "Ancient Greek literature. You might want to learn about Cicero's story about Damocles. I think it will teach you more about this meeting than anything else you could possibly learn at dinner."

"Hmmm," was her only answer. "Cicero. Damocles." She brought a finger to her mouth in thought. _Where am I gonna learn about that all the way out HERE?_


	9. Chapter 9

The Damocles Solution Chapter 9.

"Heeeeey, this is Dr. Peter Venkman," said the psychologist in the sweetest tone he can muster. "I'm calling the court this afternoon because…well…hey. I am a pretty professional guy, and I want to make sure I'm calling the right people. Recently I had been so graciously flattered by the court when its reperesentative delivered a few documents to my office about appearing in court. 'Kay? Does this sound familiar?"

He listened for a moment. "Oh gooooood, then I have the right number. Say, I am going to have to inform the court of an itty-bitty-teeny-weeny problem with their scheduling." With every amount of rage he can muster, he yelled into the phone, getting up in his seat in anger, then wincing. He was still feeling the burn in his hip from the bust the day before. "MY PROBLEM (yowch!) IS THAT I'M NOT FIFTY DIFFERENT PEOPLE TO ATTEND ALL THESE DAMNED COURT APPOINTMENTS!"

Pointing his finger at the phone, he continued. "So how 'bout you call your people and tell 'em ta CANCEL some of these appointments for me, and if not, then send me new summons in the names of my VERY CAPABLE ASSOCIATES. GOT THAT?"

Winston raised an eyebrow. "Peter, they can't see you pointing like that."

Peter shot Winston a scowl. He glared back at the phone. "Venkman. VEE-EE-ENN-KAY-EMM-AYY-ENN!" He threw his hands in the air. "No! For God's sake, there is NO 'I' IN MY NAME! Are you seriously the only one in Manhattan who hasn't heard of me! And I've tried to get through to this office for an eternity already, _and_ I want to add that this is the first time I've had a chance to call your office about this, because I was at one such _inconvenient _hearing today after another! So, do you people take a three hour lunch break or something? Is this where my tax dollars are going?"

The door opened, and Ray happily strolled in and waved. Winston took notice of Ray's pleasant mood, and was relieved that his aunt seemed to have pulled through. After grabbing the limited edition yo-yo they had scored for Ray at the factory, he ran over to him, hiding the prize behind his back.

"Have a good trip, my man?"

"Oh, you bet! My aunt wasn't able to attend the parade, turned out she was getting over a horrible flu. So she took the opportunity to record it all on tape while I went. The mayor wasn't even there this year, he has the same exact thing!" Entering the firehouse with Winston's strong arm wrapped around him for a few steps, he caught sight of Peter trying to deliberate with the court over the phone.

"Well, you make SURE you make some kinda note-thingy, that I made this call. Because lemme tell ya buddy! ME, my TAX DOLLARS, and my booming business are all gonna move to Tahiti if you don't start the process of handling some of these subpoenas! And NOW!" he slammed Janine's phone down so hard the receiver clanged all through the garage.

"Did…did I get back here at a bad time?" Ray asked Winston quietly.

"Yeah, but we're workin' on the same bad time that didn't stop since that shopping cart was pushed in here." He brought the yo-yo around his back to present to Ray. "Got this fer ya."

"Oh, WOW!" said Ray eagerly as he took the yo-yo in his hands. "A limited Platinum edition one, too! Where did ya get this?" he asked, amazed.

"Eh, a lil' side job we did while you were gone."

"And Ray," added Peter, "you better practice every day. My hip sacrificed its blissful non-painful status to get you that thing."

Ray whistled at the yo-yo. "Aw sheesh, Peter. Look at this! I really don't want to take it out. There must be only about 50 of these in existence. I'd be ruining a rare item if I did that!"

Peter's face went red with rage, and he balled his hands into fists. He put his head on the desk, and then, only staggared stacatto sounds made it out to express his frustration.

The phone rang again, and Peter was ready this time. "VEE-EEE-ENN-KAY-EMM-AYY-ENN!" he yelled into it. "Do you people have chimpanzees at the keyboard or something!" He paused, his face turning from red to white. "Oh, my sinceeeeeere apologies. This is ProbeCorp? Well," he said, adjusting his tie and innocently running his hand through his hair. "You know how it happens with these crazy telemarketers that want to call someone else and they call you, we had 'em all day!" His tone became somber. "I hate to inform your business that the Ghostbusters have moved their operations to Tahiti. Oooooooh, yes. That's exactly right. Just today in fact! We—"

Winston ran around to Janine's desk. "Hold it _right there_, flyboy!" he said firmly, grabbing the phone out of Peter's hand. "Hi, this is Winston Zeddemore. Might you be calling to give further information about your case?" He angled Janine's notepad towards himself, and began writing. "_In operations for ten years. Then changed hands due to financial issues. Mr. Derrick, 1979, then Mr. Greenshaw, 197,."_ He said, finishing up the notes. "Okay. We'll add this to your file. Oh, some of this was on the earlier paperwork we had? Okay. That's much appreciated. No, I personally don't have any theories right now, two of our men were unavailable yesterday and today. We that were left we had to do another bust yesterday, and then there were—" the tall dark man eyed Peter sternly from the bridge of his nose, making Peter hold up his hands in mock innocence, "-_legal complications_ to be straightened out…but when I review our secretary's notes I will make sure we are right there when we have a good lead on how to handle this." He could have sworn he saw Peter start, but figuring he's been twice as touchy lately, he'd let it slide.

He stopped writing to nod into the air graciously. "Yessir. Ayup. We'll be in touch. Goodbye."

Ray asked curiously while he stopped unpacking to play with Slimer, who had greeted him warmly on seeing him in the doorway, "More info from ProbeCorp?"

Winston nodded, and chased Peter away from the desk. He began riffling through her file drawer. "Yep. All we gotta do is write these on Janine's notes and we're good to go. I'd like to review those notes anyway, maybe we can think a' somethin'."

"Good idea," said Ray.

Peter looked away and began whistling.

Winston brought out the "active cases" folder, and flipped through it. "Lessee… that restaurant in the Bronx…Ninth Avenue…Hazleton, Pennsylvania?" He scratched his head. "Man, that one's in the middle of nowhere."

Ray nodded. "Well, ya know what they say about Pennsylvania: there's Philly, and Pittsburgh, and Kentucky in the middle."

Peter stopped whistling for a moment to interject. "Ray, stop insulting Kentucky like that." He added quietly, "Now, Pennylvania? I can't help Pennsylvania's case very much."

Winston continued on. "Well, before we go back there, we gotta get some extra pothole insurance on Ecto-1." He shivered. "_Nasty_ potholes out that way. Anyway. Museum of Natural History… South Street…Hmmm. I'm not seein' ProbeCorp in here." He turned to Slimer, figuring he was taking a shot in the dark asking him anything. "Slimer, there wasn't anybody foolin' around with these files, was there?"

Slimer nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh! Uh-huh!"

Winston narrowed his eyes. "Oh? _Really_, Slimer?"

Peter's face flared red. He positively looked like he was ready to explode. "I'm gonna kill 'im! I'm gonna blast 'im, then trap 'im, then KILL 'IM! In that order!"

Slimer slapped his little hands in front of his gigantic mouth, spraying droplets of ectoplasm on the furniture and the floor.

Considering Slimer's naïve exposure of guilt, and Peter's fury, Winston rose to his full tall height, pointing a finger accusingly at Peter. "Ah-hah! I think I got it. It was Peter, in the kitchen, with _my_ brand new bottle of chocolate sauce! Wasn't sure who would eat three-quarters of a brand new bottle of chocolate sauce except Slimer, but that's been in there for a week and he hadn't touched it!" He put his hands on his hips and leaned forward. "_Until now_. You took that file outta her desk, covered it in _my _chocolate sauce, and fed it to Slimer!"

Peter crossed his arms defiantly. He had been officially busted. "And I shoulda fed it to the containment unit. At least the ghosts in there know _how to keep their mouths shut_!"

Ray waved a finger at Slimer. "Now Slimer, take that as a lesson. When Peter wants to bribe you with food, it's never gonna be his own, so you better say no."

Slimer's shoulders fell. "Oooooookaaaaay Raaaaaaaaay."

Ray patted him on the head. "Well, I'd say we try and go on what we know. I think considering where Janine is it'll just be unecessary to bug her unless we would have no choice or this turns out to be a demigod in sheep's clothing…which at this point I doubt. We'll head out there tomorrow—" he had to stop because of an exasperated groan from Peter, "—and we'll try to piece this together, all over again."

Winston and Ray shot Peter one last angry look. Following suit, so did Slimer.


	10. Chapter 10

The Damocles Solution 10

Janine had never slept on a bed with so many layers of fluff as she had the past two nights. She found herself amusedly counting each one as she peeled them off earlier in the morning. Now in mid-afternoon, after applying some mud mask, she was more than happy to girlishly jump back into the mounds of sheets and comforters.

She reviewed the previous day. She had hardly seen Egon, which she expected, and it seems he never even checked in with her before retiring to his own room to sleep that night—if he slept at all. She figured he was much too preoccupied at various mini-meetings and lectures to do so. _These science guys must run on jet fuel_, she thought. No matter—she had an entire day on her own in these gorgeous surroundings…and more than once, was asked by prominent men and women about how the secretarial and legal issues of such an unusual business were handled. It was clear that some of the scholars were wise enough to see that the behind-the scenes work was just as important as the fame and glory of the front lines, and this she found immensely flattering.

She glanced at the clock. There still was over an hour and a half to the dinner, which was only two floors below. _Plenty of time to soak up a little more know-how_, she figured, cracking open the algebra book she had been working on since two days ago, and adjusting her plush new hunter green robe that she got on a great sale (or she would have never been able to afford it!) at a local posh store.

"Area of a square = sides squared. Hm. Easy enough. Area of a rectangle = length times width. Okay. Area of a triangle, where x = half the perimeter…so that's the square root of x times x minus the "a" side, times x minus the "b" side…oh gawd….times…x…minus…"

She threw the book aside. "This is ridiculous! Dr. Spengler is rubbing off on me a little too much, and I gotta stop this now!" She got up off the bed and headed over to the window, and put her hands on her hips. "I'm gonna treat this like a vacation." With a wink, she added, "And I still got the dinner left to pick everyone's brain, too!"

She sat down at the elaborate vanity mirror, inspecting each compact she brought. She pulled out that container of lipstick she bought at that adorable little boutique. "Wow, this one looks waaaay too dark now that I got a good look at it. What am I gonna use _this_ for?" She threw it back in a pocket in her suitcase. "Melnitz, Melnitz, Melnitz. How many times do I have to to tell ya not to impulse shop like that! Now I hafta get an entire outfit just to match that lipstick!"

A knock sounded at her door. "Well, I'm not exactly in gorgeous mode right now, but I guess it can't hurt to answer a few more questions."

She made her way over, and was shocked into silence by the fact that there was Egon standing there through the peephole. She hurriedly unlocked the door and swung it open.

She gasped. There he was, in full charcoal-grey morning suit dress, complete with ascot tie and popped-up collar. The long vertical lines of the sharp suit only made him look even taller than he was, if that were possible. _Thank God for mud mask, because my face is probably redder than that cranberry drink I had room service deliver last night!_ she thought.

Hands in his pockets, he raised an eyebrow in confusion, noticing not only her mud mask, but also her inability to speak. "Janine? Are you feeling well?" he asked cluelessly.

"Oh…E—ah…Doctor Spengler—you're…so…ah…" she started breathlessly, looking way up at his face.

She looked back at the clock again, and cringed. There was still an entire hour and a half to go! "…_early_," she finished painfully.

She held up her hands, blurted out, "Never mind. I'll get ready in a jiff!" and closed the door hard, leaving Egon in the hallway to wait.

A few minutes later, she already had her mud mask off (which tingled her skin and did wonders for her her complexion in one use!) and slipping her sapphire blue, knee-length dress on. After taking another spare moment or two to don other essentials such as hose, shoes, and jewelry, she dug through her luggage to find her matching new clutch purse.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, now that she was finished, she modeled the dress to herself, spinning and posing this way and that way. _Who needs a fairy to change the way you look when you can have this, Melnitz!_ she thought, briefly reviewing the fact that since the fiasco with Lotabucks, it didn't take long for her looks to snap back to normal. _You were just plain out of your mind. But…considering what's waiting outside for me…_ She shook her head. _Nevermind. You're not getting off easy because you're cute, Dr. Spengler._

Opening the door, she saw him sitting on the plush velvet seat near her door in the hallway, reading the most recent edition of _Who's Who and What's That_. She looked at her watch, and realized she spent an entire hour and a quarter getting ready.

She made her way to the door, sighing before she opened it. Where the heck did all that time go?

"So….how'd you…ah…manage to pass the wait out here?" she ventured to ask him as he arose from his seat and began to walk alongside her towards the elevator.

"I must say I had a rather interesting lengthy discussion with a gentleman that's a specialist on a dairy farm. He's working on researching the relationship of our previous cases involving haunted chickens to increased positive mood trends in bovine livestock. That took quite a bit of time. Also, another guest asked me what I was doing, and when I replied that I was waiting for my secretary to finish her preparations, he handed me this magazine," he added, confused, "and, um, he also said in the future I should take _War and Peace_ along with me if I find myself in the same situation ever again."

Janine frowned. "Ladies don't take _that _long," she hissed under her breath.

They fell into silence and stepped in the elevator. Egon seemed to be having some trouble keeping his elbow near her at bay. She knew he was asking for something, in his own way, by continuing to clear his throat, and holding out his arm so far she almost walked into it a few times.

She beat him at the pass. "Oh, and yes, Dr. Spengler. I see you've selected charcoal grey as your color for this occasion. Good choice," she said wickedly, refusing to take the arm he now seemed rather used to having her hands around. "It does wonders for your complexion."

She didn't bother to look at his face, however, his hands fell into his pockets…and stayed there the rest of the trip down.

* * *

There was no need for the siren on the way to ProbeCorp. Since the entity in question wasn't particularily destructive, this wasn't considered an emergency. And the ride gave the guys the opportunity to compare notes they remembered about the case.

What also helped was Peter's driving. His _painfully slow_, _purposefully deliberate_ driving.

"Peter?" said Ray as they puttered along, everyone else easily passing them. "I know you don't like it there but…that entity's gotta go."

"Ray, that thing wasn't smart enough to haunt a mattress store. It's haunting a lab with preserved body parts. So I am in no particular hurry to make that thing go anywhere." He nervously massaged his brow. "Not even for the money, this time. Gee, I gotta be coming down with something!" he turned to the redhead sitting aside of him. "Feel my forehead, Tex. Am I hot?"

Winston kept to the business plan. "Well, the guy on the phone said this place did change hands a few times in 1979, because of financial difficulties. We have that to start with."

"From what I remember, the first owner in 1979 and the second were pretty good guys. I can't understand what could've happened," Ray added, confused.

"Some major storms kept interfering with their electrical work. Kept blowin' out the machines and they constantly needed repair. First owner tried to cover the repairs with some loans but the grants they were receiving weren't coverin' em."

"Wonder if it was ever investigated that the electric problems were the result of supernatural work?"

Winston shook his head. "Nope. Definitely not supernatural. That year was a bad year for storms. I do remember that from Janine's notes."

For a few moments, they fell into thoughtful silence.

After finally pulling up the car to the gate of ProbeCorp, Peter sighed heavily while Ray and Winston got out of the car and suited up. He leaned forward and draped himself over the steering wheel. "I just can't talk anybody out of this one. I've tried every form of diplomacy avaliable to me." Ever so slowly he got out of the car and reached for his own pack in the back of the vehicle.

Winston sideglanced him as they walked along. "Three quarters of my chocolate sauce is missin' because of your diplomacy, Peter." He spread out his hands. "Besides, we do gross stuff all the time. Why is this so different?"

"The parts, Winston. Real parts. _People_ parts. They make me feel so…so _mortal_."

"But we _are_ mortal!" injected Ray.

Peter sighed. "I guess defeating demigods and major demons and various Armies of Darkness, one after another, and coming out of it with nothing but a few scrapes and bruises can give you an unhealthy 'god' complex."

"But how 'bout that time when that destabilizer backfired on Egon? That was nasty. I'll never forget that scream…"

"Yeah. There was that," he agreed, losing himself for a moment in thought. "But he's still in one piece. And not…pieces…yeesh…" He thought a moment, then had to snicker. "I think the worst thing that upset him about that wasn't necessarily the pain of getting destabilized, it was the fact that he wouldn't have anything to donate to science if he stayed that way."

"True," said Winston wryly.

"Awwww, relax, Peter," said Ray, patting Peter on the shoulder. "A little bit of mortality once in a while'll be good for your psyche."

"Yeah, but…humility doesn't make for good publicity photos!" Peter argued.

Ray looked down again at the ground, his mind full of figures and numbers from the company's history he couldn't muddle through. "I still think we're missing some important information here. I wonder if they called Janine and she took extra notes or something...that we _don't have anymore._" His last words were particularily pointed.

Peter's communicator rang inside his pocket. "Gee, telemarketers all the way out here. Maybe I can give 'em a nice looooong free psychoanalysis while we're _so happy_ to be going inside," he said, causing the other two to roll their eyes.

* * *

As it was still rather early for most of the guests to arrive, including those from their table, Janine nervously made herself busy by examining the dinnerware arrangements. In front of her were at least four glasses of various sizes, and silverware after silverware along each side of a stack of many different sized plates and dishes.

Daunted by the extremely detailed place setting, she held her forehead. "Oh nooooo, " she moaned. "I have no idea what I'm doing here! I'm going to have a terrible time!"

Egon leaned over. "Just remember to work from the outside in for each course and you'll do well." He pointed to each glass. "Water, champagne flute, red wine, white wine."

She sighed with a note of relief. "That'll help."

"Place settings are rather simple when taken in context."

She grinned. "No, I meant the fact about the free champagne and wine!"

Egon sighed in elegant resignation.

Now that some of the particulars would be easier to handle, she turned to admiring the fine china, beautiful stemware, and the elegant table coverings and napkin holders. She thought about the rest of the guys, and what they could possibly be doing. She felt sorry for Ray—he was probably working triple time filling in for the loss of Egon while doing calls. _He's such a good kid_, Janine thought. _Dr. Venkman better step up to the plate while there's only three of 'em there._ _He'll hear it from me if I don't call him on the communicator and check on 'im first._

Janine jumped in her seat, and snapped her fingers. She immediately got Egon's attention, and brought a hand up to and inside his coat and vest, to his more than mild embarrassment, though complete compliance. Digging around to find his shirt pocket, maaaaaaybe a little longer than she had to, she pulled out the thin black communicator. _And while I'm checking on Dr. Venkman, he can do a little favor for me!_

She flipped on the device and paused while it connected.

"_Dr. Venkman at your service_!" she heard, through the static.

"Dr. Venkman, I have a request of you should you be so kind to indulge me."

"_Janiiiiiiiiine_!" he cooed. "_My, my my. Nice to hear from you after so long. We were just discussing you, and no, it wasn't about a pay raise. But don't mind us, we're just tackling the nasty stuff while you're, no doubt, enjoying your Savignon Blanc and pheasant under glass_."

"Don't patronize me, Dr. Venkman!" she hissed. "Actually, quail is on the menu tonight, and, more importantly, I need some info." She turned away from Egon to try to talk as confidentially as possible. "Tell me everything ya know about Cicero's work about Damocles!"

"_Why suuuuure, Janine. But ya know, there's no such thing as a free lunch…well, maybe for you and Spengs, but, I can fix that_."

"What are you askin' me about now, Dr. Venkman?"

"_What I want to know first from you is—" _and she could tell he was cupping the phone with his hand in mock privacy_, "—if you've found out whether it's boxers of briefs for Spengs yet_."

Janine gritted her teeth in rage. She was ready to blow.

"_And doooooon't try to fib your way out of it, missy. Yaknow I've seen him change too many times so I'll know if you're lyi_—"

"_You_…..! _You_…" she shot up out of her chair and slammed a fist down onto the table. "_You unrepentant __pig_!" she yelled into the communicator at the top of her voice. Banging on the table to her words, she continued. "You put Winston or Ray on this thing right now! Or when I get home, I'll—"

Noticing the eerie silence of the dining hall, Janine turned around…and met the gaze of about a hundred shocked patrons, including Egon.

She smiled innocently, waved timidly, then silently, and ever so slowly, sat down in her seat, and eventually the background noise picked up in volume again. She attempted to cover her face with a hand, elbow propped up on the table. She closed her eyes, wishing she could just disappear into that cute champagne flute. _I'm going to have a terrible time, _ she kept mentally repeating to herself.

"_Or you'll what_?" she heard Peter dare her through the communicator.

"Put Ray or Winston on…_right…NOW_!" she hissed.

"_Awwww_," Peter sighed.

"_Yeah, Janine, whatcha need_?" she heard Ray ask after a short pause.

"Ray! I'm so glad to hear your voice. Tell me everything you know about Cicero's work about Damocles!" she asked, this time much more quietly. She glanced over. Egon's complexion was returning to normal after turning a shade of, well, ghostly white.

"_Ohhh…Damocles. No problem!" _said Ray_. "In a nutshell, he was basically a peon in the Emperor's court. He saw all the riches and treasure and food the Emperor had, and when the Emperor caught wind of it that he said that it must be the life with all this around him, he offered to let him rule for a day. Damocles said, 'Suuuure!' and right away dove into the Emperor's riches. Then the Emperor suspended a sword right above Damocles' head, hung by a single horsehair, to get it through to him the immense pressure he lives under every day, though outwardly, he has wealth and power beyind anyone's dreams_! _Damocles then said, 'Naaaaaah, this isn't for me!' and then happily turned the title back to its orginal bearer._"

Janine hummed in thought over the communicator.

"_That help_?" asked Ray.

"Yeah. I still don't get it," she whispered, stroking a finger alongside the elegant, intricately-patterened bone china plates, "but at least I know now what story Dr. Spengler was talking about."

"_Hey, Janine_?"

"Yeah, Ray?"

"_Do you remember any details about the ProbeCorp case? Peter fed your notes about it to Slimer_," and in the background she could have sworn she heard Winston saying something in the background about chocolate, but there was too much static to be sure. "S_o we're out of luck trying to come to a conclusion about what to do here_."

Janine scowled in the thoughts of her detailed entries getting fed to the little green ghost, but then turned around to face the table, and brightened. "Oh, yeah. Early in the morning after you guys went out a few days ago they called back. They said that in 1979, there was one guy that wasn't officially an owner, but he was locked up soon after because money and other stuff started to go missin'. I think he managed it from maybe October to early December. He wasn't listed as an 'official' owner because he was an accountant and was just handling it or somethin' until someone else volunteered or bought the lab ownership. Think the guy I talked to said his name was Fiero. Fell over from a heart attack soon after gettin' sentenced. Does that help?"

Ray paused for a moment. "_Yeah. Yeah, I think that does help a lot. I think that'll tidy this right up! Thanks, and have fun!_"

Janine turned to Egon when he whispered, "ProbeCorp?" to her. When she nodded, he prompted with the flick of a finger to use the communicator.

"No problem, Ray. Oh, wait, here's Dr. Spengler."

"Ray?" Egon said. "I want to make sure you don't do too much damage to the lab while you're there. I've heard they're on the verge of some useful medical breakthroughs there. Yes. Take your utmost care in dealing with the entity." With a final "mmhm" he shut off the communicator and returned it to his shirt pocket.

* * *

Ray shut off the communicator as they entered the gates. "She said that there was an accountant who did iffy paperwork for them while they were changing hands. He wasn't listed as an official owner. By the time he was starting to embezzle, the law caught up to him and had him removed,and then the new owner took over in late December!"

Winston stroked his mouth in thought, as they proceeded to the front door. "This ghost in here might be that guy trying to mess with the lab."

Ray pointed a finger at Winston. "You bet! He's angry at this place, and rooted here, because it was the last thing he tried to accomplish in his life before he died!"

Winston nodded in understanding.

Ray continued. "Only thing is, Egon said this place was ready to make some medical breakthroughs, so we have to do minimal damage possible."

"Hmm." Winston replied. "That's gonna be tough goin'. People that angry to come back like this usually don't go down all that easily."

Peter listened with unusual attentiveness, though he was the last to go through the front doors.

It was mid-afternoon, but the whole lab was silent. Various organs in jars lined the walls. Microscopes, still with petri dishes underneath, had remained untouched since Ray had called to clear out the facility. A few skeletal systems, and half-dissected corpses, lay on tables.

They made their way in in silence, walking past side labs and a few displays along the walls of charts and graphs.

Suddenly, Peter gagged, then had to double over to catch his breath. His hand slid along the wall, holding himself up as he dragged himself along.

Winston and Ray switched their packs on. The rising electrical sound of the packs, and Peter's out of control breathing, were the only things heard in the lab.

"W—wait guys…I think I…can handle this…" gasped Peter.

"You? You can barely stand!" observed Winston.

Peter held up a dismissive hand as he arose. "Minimal damage…angry ghost…I got this." He straightened with herculean effort, and walked forward, alone. Stopping to turn back once, he said, "And the more…I talk, the less sick I'll get."

Ray whispered to Winston. "You think he wants to use some psychology to help the ghost disperse peacefully?"

Winston nodded slowly, beginning to look uneasy with the surroundings himself. "I—I think so…"


	11. Chapter 11

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The Damocles Solution 11

Peter grabbed a chair and flipped it around, breathing heavily and wiping his quickly-dampening forehead. Sitting backwards on the chair, he threw his arms over the tall chairback, and leaned heavily, trying not to think of where he was.

"Hey," he panted. "Hey. Fiero."

Not getting an answer, he dared to look up. No physical manifestation as of yet.

"Hey! Fiero!" he called again. "I know you're a smart guy, and…you've had it pretty rough. So…talk to me, Fiero. What happened?"

A moment of silence. The lab still produced no spectre.

"Fiero! Talk to me. You sound like a guy that was down…on your luck for a long time, buddy. Made it to the top, then it came crashing down? Sound familiar?"

"Yessssssssssssss…" replied a haunting voice, congealing its energy and forming into a ghostly image in front of Peter.

Peter's attention immediately focused on the spectre, and it helped him strengthen. "I heard the whole thing. Wasn't long you…were in this place before the carpet was pulled out from under your feet. And…and you're angry that this was done. And now you can't leave your anger that you have…pent up from this place and rest easy."

"Yessss!"

In the meantime, Ray took the opportunity to walk around the room, examining the various items and organs, preserved in various color liquids and containers, that lined the cupboards and walls.

Stopping by a preserved stomach, he cocked an eyebrow and began to tap his mouth in deep thought.

Winston strode aside of him and whispered. "Ray. You're lookin' at that thing like it's a candy apple from the faire you were just at. Cut it, cuz it's creepin' me!"

Ray broke away and smiled. "Heh. Sorry Winston. It's just that this reminds me of…something….someone."

Winston's eyes went wide. "Reminds you of someone? Who the heck gets that reward!"

Ray turned again to the organ, floating in greenish liquid. "Reminds me…of…" His eyes went wide, and he snapped his fingers. "Aha! I got it!" He turned to Winston quickly. "I'll explain later. Let's just keep a close check on how Peter's doing."

In the center of the room, Peter continued, now walking around cooly, and looking much better than he did when he first walked in.

"You know, anger is one of the most destructive forces on Earth, Fiero. You gotta channel that anger into something productive. This place is…extremely valuable for posterity. Who knows, maybe some of your kids or their kids might benefit from this place in the future."

The spectre glared angrily. It didn't like the suggestion of relenting its rage.

Peter held his hands up. "I'm not saying you should move on when you're not ready. We ALL…can move on…but only when we're ready. I'm saying…re-channel that anger. I'm sure you've had more than enough people from all walks of life that probably ticked you off beyond belief. No man is driven to actions such as yours if they're not desperate. Am I right?"

"Yesssss," said Fiero, looking a bit placated at Peter's understanding.

"So, instead of a place such as this, where you duck and hide, and the limit of your involvement is pretty much fiddling around with the goop in a coupla test tubes, let loose. Take your anger out on something…bigger."

Fiero turned his head slowly, confused. And so did Winston and Ray.

"You got caught and charged with embezzlement right before you died. So…" and he grinned a most devious, impetuous grin, "…why not take it out on, I dunno…the justice system?"

The spectre's hollow eyes widened, as if it had never thought of this.

"We have looots of courthouses in Manhattan…let's say, ya start with…Midtown?"

"YESSSS!" roared Fiero, holding up his fists, roaring into the air. Ribbons of energy swirled around him, and soon enough, he collapsed on himself, and disappeared from sight.

With a wink and a pointed finger, Peter grinned. "See ya at the Midtown Courthouse."

Winston blinked in the empty silence of the lab. "No _way_, man," he whispered. "He just sent that ghost to the courthouse…for _himself_."

"WOW!" cheered Ray. "You shifted his center of anger from one location to another, and, in essence, rechanneled the anger, changing the location of where he was bound!"

Winston just sighed, hoping this would not somehow get them in further trouble with the court system.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," finished Peter as he ran toward the door all too swiftly, "rechannelled his anger blah, blah, blah…bye guys!" Reaching Ray and Winston, he only paused long enough to hold up his hands, tickling the air with his fingers. "_Psyyyychologyyyyyyyyy_…" he intoned deeply, and ran out the door.

"I still can't believe he just did that." Winston tapped Ray on the arm. "Let's call ahead to the courthouse and clear it out before either we, or Fiero, get there, man! It's gonna be messy!"

* * *

The Ecto-1 squealed to a halt in front of the Midtown Courthouse. Already the guys could hear sounds of tearing and thrashing inside, and the people who were previously inside now lined the streets, worriedly keeping an eye on the building.

Winston and Ray leaped out of the car, and ran towards the doors. Peter, on the other hand, got out calmly, and leaned against the car door, taking his time inspecting his gun.

"Hmmm. I'm gonna have to tell Spengs to put a new layer of paint on this thing. All this action and adventure is really hard on a glossy coat."

He looked up to see the collective scowl from Ray and Winston.

Winston spoke first. "Hey! Aren't you gonna get over here and do this with us?" he yelled.

Peter sighed. "C'mon guys! What's a little bit of payback for all those ridiculous court appointments? I say we let 'im have a lil' fun and redecorate the place a bit. Every time he trashes a room, that's one less stack of cases we have to go to."

Winston and Ray's only answer was to glare even harder.

"So…no one's for that idea?" Peter asked, his hands out in supplication.

"NO!" shouted Ray and Winston together.

The three men ran to the most logical place for the ghost to reside—the courtroom. There was no need for the PKE meter; all they had to do was listen and watch for the room with the most destruction.

Outside the courtroom, they fired up their packs.

"Kinda neat, though, to actually _know_ where the ghost'll show up for once instead of playing hide-and-seek with them!" Ray said.

Winston couldn't get over what Peter had done earlier. "Yeah, kinda neat, as long as no one finds out _he_ was the one to get the bright idea to send the ghost here!"

Peter brought a finger to his mouth. "Winston! Shhhhhh! There's no way the papers are gonna look at us kindly if ya keep sayin' that as if I did something wrong."

"That _was_ just wrong, man!"

The ghost inside the courtroom screamed and roared in rage, throwing large pieces of wood all over the courtroom.

Peter waved a hand dismissively. "Think how grateful you'll be when you're out doing something…I dunno, interesting, and not stuck for hours in a courtroom defending our completely clean business practices."

Winston groaned. "If he has clean business practices, I'm a Lysol Scrubbing Bubble."

"So, what's the plan?" asked Peter, as a large piece of the jury box flew out the doorway, and by his head.

Ray contracted his brow. "Well…we're short one, obviously. We'll try to contain it using three packs on max, low dispersion. If that doesn't work, Winston, change 'er over to single shot and we'll hit it while it's stunned. That's equal to about six and half packs!"

Peter shrugged. "It's bound to this room, so it should be easy!"

Ignoring him, Ray counted down to their assault on the ghost. "Three!…Two!…One!…after 'im!"

"See? I did choose the right location after all!" continued Peter. "You can thank me later, guys!"

Running in, they took a quick asessment of the situation.

Watching the spectre, it seemed to appear in and out at will, popping in, then out, then in again, in different locations, roaring and raging the entire time.

"We can't get a lock on it! It's moving too fast!" yelled Ray, annoyed.

"Watch the motions…maybe we can predict where it's gonna pop up next!" said Winston.

"I motion that we break for some pizza!" yelled Peter.

"Motion denied!" yelled Ray in return.

Winston lowerd his brow. "Doesn't seem like we can predict it. It's just going in and out anywhere it wants!" Part of a heavy wooden bench flew past, and Fiero's spectre paused momentarily to scream in rage. They all ducked the bench just in time.

"Hit it now!" said Winston.

They arose, shot at the ghost, and just as their beams were about to reach Fiero, he popped out of sight again. Appearing and disappearing, the guys were bathed in what compared to a slow strobe light.

"I think we oughta just hang this guy! He's messin' with an important building! A lil' prosecution'll do 'im good!" yelled Winston.

"Oh yeah? In his defense, he's really saving us a lot of lost nap time!" answered Peter, glaring at Winston.

"Defense! This guy doesn't need a defense! He's ruining public property! The damages are unbelieveable! He's—"

Ray ran between them. "Guys! Order in the court!"

Peter's face went white as he looked up. "WHOA guys! Part of the damage is gonna be us if we don't get out of the way!"

Winston and Ray looked up, and their mouths dropped.

Three more benches were falling from the sky. "MOVE IT!" yelled Peter inbetween flashes of light. They all scattered, and the benches smashed into the floor.

"Phew," said Peter, wiping his brow.

Winston had to move fast again as the New York State flag flew by him like a javelin, and with a hard _thock_! became impaled in the wall behind him. "Hey! That's worth an indictment or two!"

Peter put a hand on a hip. "Hey! For every opened letter I can ignore, I'm THAT much more willing to get this guy a plea bargain! Why, I'm sure in his life he couldn't have been so bad that—"

"Are you kiddin' me, Peter?" Winston persisted. "Why, I betcha I'll hear all kinds of horrible things that he did!"

Ray waved a finger at Winston. "Inadmissible! Hearsay!"

Fiero stopped for another short time, and the three of them took the moment to their advantage to let another trio of streams loose. But, Fiero was too quick for them, and vanished out yet again just in the nick of time. Again he began to fade in and out, creating an entire room of rapidly pulsing light.

Winston scowled. "Best thing to do with this guy…is start gettin' down to gettin' this room of justice back exactly as it was when we're done!"

"Objection! I'd rather make this courtroom into a dance hall while he's got the light show going!" yelled Peter.

Ray and Winston yelled "Overruled!" in tandem.

Peter made an angry fist. "Too bad a direct examination won't produce the method of how to send this guy into the containment unit!"

Winston nodded. "I'd say also that it'd make a particularily _cross_ cross-examination!" He turned to Ray aside of him. "We gotta continue this until the job's done! What do you say?"

Ray gave a cold glare to Winston. "I'll let ya know what I think, when I do…THIS!"

To Peter's and Winston's shock, he broke away from the two of them, running toward the miraculously still-intact judge's bench, dodging and weaving large pieces of wood and metal in the process.

Peter's eyes widened, and he shouted across the destroyed courtroom. "What the heck are you doin', Tex? Tryin' to get yourself a plea bargain with Mephistopheles or somethin?"

Ray turned back for just a moment. "If I'm gonna do this, I'm gonna do it RIGHT!" he yelled back. "Winston! Prepare single shot! We can't afford to lose this guy because we're one gun short!"

"Roger!"

Ray approached the bench, rounded the side of it, and grasped the gavel, white-knuckled, with gritted teeth. He raised the gavel high in the air, and with finality, yelled, "Continuance not only granted…but necessary!"

He brought down the gavel. It hit on the wood beneath it with a resounding wooden knock.

All was silent for a moment.

Peter was the first to speak. "Hey…guys," he whispered, while pointing toward a corner of the courtroom. "No more light show, if ya noticed!"

Winston looked up, and Ray turned his head, his hand still gripping the gavel.

Sure enough, there was Fiero in the corner, clutching his head and moaning.

Peter winked. "Justice was served the first time around, so it worked the second time around, too!" He slowly held up a thumb.

Winston shot up to a knee where he was. "Time to wrap this up, because Ghostbusters court is now in session!" he announced, bringing the gun up to his eye and quickly focusing on Fiero.

He let a shot loose, and Peter heard the familiar sound of low-pitched lightning. He saw Winston flinch from the kickback, but the spring-set shoulder setup between the gun and his joint kept the kickback at bay.

One shot hit Fiero with lightning speed, and Ray threw a trap out, then gave the OK to hit it with all they had. Ray and Peter fired, holding the spectre at bay, but not disabling it enough until Winston adjusted back to stream, and added to the fire that was already on Fiero, still burning from the single shot.

The equivalent of six and a half streams almost obliterated Fiero had they fired for much longer, but before he could have been destroyed so, Ray slapped on the pedal of the trap, and the spectre was sucked inside with a _whoosh!_ And a _snap!_

"Bail…_denied_!" said Ray, smiling and trying to catch his breath.

Peter raised his fists in exhuberant victory. "WOOHOO! Ya know what we should do, guys?" he asked as they headed out into the streets of cheering people, "We should lock Spengs in a tiny room. And then…make him make us these proton packs like Winston's until he can't keep his eyes open! And then…make him make more!"

Ray wiped his brow. "Well, for once, I'm glad you didn't include me in that. You can have Egon do that on his own. You know how cranky he gets when he _voluntarily_ refuses to get any sleep!"

Winston waved to the throngs of admiring fans. "Guys, what Peter suggested-he does that to himself _already_."

Ray nodded. "Yep, that he does."


	12. Chapter 12

The Damocles Solution 12.

Janine took another long sip of whatever count this glass of white wine was. The fourth? Fifth? She had long lost track. "And so, I got waited on by this really _cute_ new young guy at the local garden store…and I could tell he didn't have any training at all…'cuz I asked if he had any ladies' slippers, and he sez to me, 'Uh, no ma'am, I don't, but my wife has three closets full of them if you'd like to see!'" She laughed loudly, and so did Dr. Phil Dendron aside of her.

Egon raised an eyebrow, catching the similarly raised eyebrow of Dendron's wife. Janine and Dendron had hit it off so well, they had been the life of the party since the plant psychologist sat down next to her, and both his wife and Egon showed the most saintly, patient temperaments the whole afternoon and early evening.

Dendron was not only on the statuesque side, dwarfing Janine on one side, while Egon dwarfed her on the other, but he was also a fantastic and entertaining talker. He was exuberantly happy to share all his tales of travels and experience with plants with her, along with anyone else who cared to listen. The rest of the time, they had been exchanging silly plant stories and jokes, and Janine was more than happy to give her spin on the average person's idea of Dendron's methods on improving plant growth, quoting his books verbatim when she needed to.

Dendron lifted his glass again. "My dear, that gives me an excellent idea! A shopping guide for local owners! I could make it another publication. Wait! I can see the title now!" he gestured dramatically with his free hand, as if thinking up a new blockbuster movie. "_Happy Plants Are Made in New York_!"

"Sounds great!" Janine laughed, then clinked glasses with him. "I call dibs on the first copy!"

"You know, Miss Melnitz," said Dendron, "I am so happy I got to sit with you at this dinner. The last time we met it was under rather stressful matters."

"Oh yes!" she agreed.

"And to think I spent quite a while wondering what in blazes my profession has to do with this organization at all." He scratched his head. "In fact, I still do wonder what in blazes my profession has to do with this organization." Holding up a finger in confidence, he added, "But…no matter! This was one of the most fun afternoons I've had in a while. I'd love for you to meet the rest of my family at my greenhouse and home sometime in the near future, preferably before your work week begins again."

"Oh, me too. Thank you so much for the invitation! Pleasure to be able to be seated beside you!" She turned to Egon, her cheeks red from wine, and her dark blue dress, he noticed, making them look even redder. "Don'tcha think, Dr. Spengler?"

Caught off guard yet again, Egon placed his water glass down on the table. "Oh, yes. Um…certainly."

He had been seated next to the woman the entire table now knew as Mrs. Dolores Aracelli, who sat next to her assisstant and butler, Morgan. Dr. Tennent was seated on Morgan's other side. Janine had glanced over at them once or twice, and all of them, especially Tennent, seemed wrapped up in their own minds constantly. Tennent looked downright uncomfortable, as if he had some important filing work he was missing out on, though he made a good attempt at conversation, in his own highbrow way.

Morgan hardly spoke the entire time. True, Aracelli did seem to have trouble getting around, and she seemed to genuinely need him; but for someone who said that she had Morgan as an assisstant for quite a few months now, he still seemed rather formal to her.

In addition, Aracelli's constant placid smile bothered Janine, but she figured she let it slide, as the only topic of her conversation involved her talking solely about her "three children and seven grandchildren" and also her "grandmotherly intuition of the universe and its operations."

Almost in answer of their thoughts, Aracelli cleared her throat, pushed out her seat with great effort, and got the attention of both Egon and Tennent. "Gentlemen? I would like to retire to a separate room to discuss an important issue," she announced, taking hold of the rather sturdy, elegantly-inscribed, jeweled cane hooked on the arm of her seat. "Shall we? I will be in the powder room a few moments, and before long, I will join you."

Tennent visibly paled, and Egon silently complied. Morgan remained at the table, the large bald man smiling cooly at Janine when she saw he was not leaving with them.

Before Egon could get away, she called him. "Dr. Spengler?"

He turned, and she waved him to lean in further. "Yes?"

She pointed at the two of them. "I don't like yer friends," she said, quietly enough so Morgan could not hear.

He leaned in, ever so close to her ear to whisper before leaving, oblivious to the fact that he was making her turned a thousand more shades of red as he did so. "Educational and paranormal enthusiasts do not equal friends. In fact, as you know in my case, sometimes the paranormal chooses you, and not the other way around."

On his way to their private room, he noticed Aracelli turned around before the restroom door, smiling at him.

* * *

After entering the meeeting room, Aracelli closed the door behind her, and turned around, hobbling. "I won't keep you from your dining very long, gentlemen," she said. Turning to Egon, she grinned. "And, Dr. Spengler, I won't keep you from the young lady you're here together with either. She rather enjoyed that kiss she received from you before you left."

Egon gasped loudly. "Ah…no, ma'am. It—wasn't what it seemed. I simply had to…ah…inform her confidentially that…ah…Mr. Baranov told me he personally sent the wine she was having to our table. She is along for professional reasons."

The elder lady adjusted her thick shawl, obviously not convinced. "Oh…I see. How kind of the host to do so. Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "I must say, I do feel relatively good lately because of this beautiful weather. However, for the one question I shall have to ask you both, I might need to sit down a bit." She pulled up a high-backed chair next to her, and setting her cane aside of it, grasped the back of the chair firmly and leaned on it.

Egon noticed that this was the first time he had gotten a good look at her cane. He inwardly admired its workmanship; the handle seemed to be of solid pewter, terminating in a shaft of the darkest material he'd ever seen. It seemed like it was covered in a velvety material, ending in the same metallic finish as the handle.

The handle bore a carving of a large serpent; and Egon recognized it immediately as similar to Norse drawings of Jormungar he'd seen in his studies. Between the teeth of the serpent, at the handle end of the cane, was a beautiful, deep red sphere, similar to a star sapphire.

"You had me cross the Atlantic to ask me one question, ma'am?" inquired Tennent, offended. "I couldn't think of anything that would warrant such a request, short of desiring to read some cataclysmic heiroglyphs together for the purpose of entertainment, with a heavy dose of destruction _a la mode_."

"Oh…Dr. Tennent," said Aracelli. "My issue here is one, which I assure you, is extremely urgent." She leaned over the chair more heavily. "I…I have called the two of you here for this reason: I have seen the deaths of one, potentially more, of us in the near future!"

A suffocating silence filled the room.

"Oh…oh dear," Tennent said softly as he took out his handkerchief, wiping his face.

Egon's brow contracted. "I see," said Egon. "Yes. Definitely worthy of discussion. Usually I would not give credence to such visions and dreams, however, I am aware from Dr. Tennent's descriptions, that you have been incredibly accurate in your predictions in the past, coupled with laudable life-long studies."

"You are correct, Dr. Spengler. I might not have quite the same number of degrees that the two of you boast of, and some of the knowledge I have gleaned has been through rather untraditional methods…but I cannot help what I see. And I must ask each of you a question related to this horribly unfortunate prediction. Are either of you interested in passing this knowledge on to someone else, seeing as there could be a mere two-or even less-of us remaining?"

"Excellent point for discussion, " breathed Egon.

Tennent was, in fact, the first one to seat himself in a chair. "Well…as you have seen, I have answered the question already. I have already been the catalyst of Dr. Spengler's knowledge of the glyphs and their meanings."

"Prompted by my previous intricate knowledge of similar language-group glyphs, and sealed by my innumerate questions while researching Tobin's entry on Fenrir's Flute," appended Egon.

Tennent nodded his head. "True…however, I think others should be taught also. I think three is a, dare I say it like this, but a manageable number; it keeps us in check with one another. I am well aware of the fact that if this information is leaked out into the general public, someone will take it upon themselves to mouth the words rather irresponsibly, and grant themselves and their Hearer the ability to summon the end of existence before they knew it."

Tennent leaned back in his chair. "I am also aware of the fact that very few in the world have the background knowledge or the desire or even the opportunity to learn such obscure information. However, enabling someone else to absorb this subject matter allows me to rest easy knowing that at least three people in the world know how to spot the warning signs should this get into the wrong hands, and it would be very easily traceable if it did."

Aracelli pursed her lips. "This is where I must differ, and I am glad to express my opinion face to face with you, Doctor. I am of the mindset that this knowledge rests quite easily with the three of us; and considering the actions of my own student, now deceased," she said with a barely perceptible note of rising anger, "I am willing to let this knowledge remain behind the closed doors of our own intellects."

Egon straightened, and narrowed his eyes. Jeremy was, in fact, Aracelli's student…or at least, her responsiblity.

"Mr. Whittington came to me much the same as you went to Dr. Tennet, Dr. Spengler. However, he didn't have any of the knowledge that the three of us posess; he could not read the glyphs on his own. However, he did have a strong background in all forms of occult, and was phenomenally well-traveled. He came to me knowing about and completely infatuated by the Song of Renewal, more for his little friend's sake than anyone else's…or so he said. It was just…unfortunate that he had discovered other things on his own."

"You took the opportunity to teach him the recitation, did you not? You said he could not read the script himself," observed Tennent.

"I told him the words of summoning, and told himabout the Song of Renewal…because I saw nothing but anger and frustration written all over his face. I assumed it was because of the difficult life of his friend. And I saw, confusingly, that he would cause hellish upheaval in the world. So…yes. I made sure I did, in fact, teach him about the Song of Renewal, in hopes that sheer ignorance would prevent the cataclysm caused by his own hands."

"So in essence, you taught a very angry man the code words to receive such a powerful tool such as Fenrir's Flute?" persisted the sociologist.

"As anyone would know, someone that was capable mentally and emotionally of doing something as destructive as Mr. Whittington would have stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. Since I was the one he turned to that was capable of teaching him and bringing the future I saw to pass, I would shoulder the responsibility and be rather discreet in what I taught him, making it the stuff of legends and empty promises, therefore making sure the disaster was averted. He must have had a sixth sense to be able to find Fenrir's altar, and the manuscript inside, also."

"Perhaps even paranormal assisstance in finding the altar," said Egon.

"I must say also that Ragnarock had not been summoned for centuries; so no one could possibly know what its effect would be until the whole process was started, anyway," said Tennent. "The mechanics are all there in the writings, however when a force such as that is used it could have all sorts of strange effects…or it could have none at all, or it could even destroy the summoner."

Egon closed his eyes, his knitted brows the only indication of his own discomfort speaking of the subject. "It appeared channeling the powers of the flute…changes one's appearance, and I would assume that it changes one's mental state, also, considering…what I have seen. Once one discovers where the altar is and recites the summon words with the Hearer along, bearing the flute grants the user the entirety of information needed to control its use." He pushed up his glasses thoughtfully. "For example, he knew precisely what to play, and when, to control what was happening in the city. This could be the only way that he would know the Song of Destruction without having learned it in the language in which it is encoded."

Aracelli straightened. "And that is my point. Yes, the crisis was averted, as I could tell the Song of Renewal was played…it was the only thing that could have possibly reversed such a powerful process. However, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Knowledge of this nature should, in my opinion, not leave those contained in this room."

They both turned to Egon. "Your thoughts, Dr. Spengler?" asked Tennent, rather pointedly.

Egon put his hands in his pockets. "I…I must say I am in agreement with Mrs. Aracelli. I think we should be the ones to die with this knowledge. I would not ask anyone else to be responsible for this, and I would also seriously and repeatedly attempt to desist those who are even curious."

"You are not willing to teach others that which you have pressed others to know yourself, Dr. Spengler?"

He glared at his former teacher. "With all due respect, Doctor…my knowledge of this issue beforehand was the same as yours…solely intellectual. If you have personally experienced what I did in New York City two years ago, you'd seek out every single obscure reference to Ragnarock in the world you could find, solely for the purpose of burning or razing it to ashes."

Tennent rubbed his hands together nervously. "Understandable. Well…it seems we are in quite a quandry here. My main issue is preservation, while there is the issue of how to check on those who show curiosity of such a thing. Perhaps we can-"

"Gentlemen," interrupted Aracelli. "I should not have waited so long in to begin to broach this subject. I suggest we discuss this again before this conference concludes. I am beginning to tire because of the long afternoon and the weightiness of this matter," said Aracelli. "And I'd prefer not to sit down here, as quite honestly, I might not be able to arise again!"

"Well, I would suggest we exit. We have kept ourselves very late, and one very lengthy discussion would arouse unecessary suspicion. No doubt dessert is over already and the guests are beginning to thin out," said Tennent, quite pleased on the premature end to the subject matter.

Egon was the first to leave the room, leaving Tennent and Aracelli behind. Exiting the door to the private room, he noticed that, indeed, most guests have gone home or back to the hotel.

Returning to the table, and finding it completely empty, he began surveying the dining hall to ascertain the whereabouts of Janine. He was stopped in his tracks by Dendron's wife, who was apparently slowly leading her very happy, though a tad unsteady husband out of the dining hall by the arm. He wasn't done telling others of his adventures, yet.

"Dr. Spengler. I have news of your secretary. She went out on the deck past the French doors to get some fresh air." She leaned in a bit with an understanding grin. "Seems her and my husband had more spirits than they could handle tonight."

He passed through the French doors, and, sure enough, there was Janine, alone on the deck, sitting with her feet tucked up, in an elaborate chair. She mumbled to herself as she drifted in and out of sleep.

Egon, after trying to rouse her with no results, stared stupidly at her a few moments. He was having quite a lot of trouble figuring out what the heck he should do with her.

Then, Winson's hand signals popped into his cranium. He had it! He knelt down, his arms steadying himself on the chair she sat on.

Before picking her up, he recalled the last conversation he had in the private room with Aracelli and Tennent, who were by now, he could see, standing at the opposite side of the hall by the exit doorway, conversing, with Morgan scanning the guests as they left. He wasn't sure how much of Aracelli's prediction he believed. He forced himself to fight off believing it, with the same irrational denial he had about the possibility of powerful wizards in his lineage.

He brought his arms around her, and, for an unconscious split second, stopped to take in the scent of her hair….then immedately stopped himself from thinking about all the combined chemicals needed to recreate that scent of strawberries in her shampoo. He had nothing to drink tonight, but that particular combination of chemicals was irresistibly intoxicating, and he grit his teeth.

_Crumbs__ on whatever was in with that methylchloroisothiazolinone!_

He then recognized it; it was that same rush of energy that completely overtook him when there was less than ten seconds left until the activated packs on his and his friends' back would blow a crater in Manhattan half a mile wide, as a hurt and lonely man played his death dirge for the world.

When there was nothing left…but her.

He picked her up, then carried her into the dining hall, still ignoring the various things she was saying in her half-sleep, no doubt none of which she'd remember in the morning, anyway. He'd seen it before after she helped herself to a few beers from the six-packs the other guys would use to celebrate with after a hard bust.

She came out of her stupor long enough to see Dendron by the doorway. "Thanks again for dinner!" she managed to singsong clearly, taking Egon's handkerchief out of its pocket and waving it at the plant psychologist, and getting an energetic wave and smile in return.

Aracelli moved to block his way to the doorway, and laid a hand on his arm. "Sometimes I see things that can be easily changed…sometimes not," she said, calmly smiling up at him. "I chatted a little longer with Dr. Tennent as he was seeming so uncomfortable. I am thinking that what we discussed earlier might be able to be stopped. But that's for later to discuss."

"Hopefully sooner than later."

"Yes. I'll be in touch."

Jarred into consciousness by seeing Dendron, and the conversation now that Egon was carrying, Janine sighed heavily, and ran her hand, still holding the handkerchief, underneath his jacket. "Dr. Spengler. You're wearing that cologne I got you," she drawled sleepily into his neck. "What're ya tryin' to do to me? …drives me crazy…"

Aracelli raised her eyebrows, and while Egon held his breath, wide-eyed, then fumbled for yet another poor explanation, he was stopped again before exiting the room…this time by Morgan. "Dr. Spengler. If you'd so like," he ventured, "I can call the hotel staff to help your secretary back into her room if you'd rather remain and socialize."

"That will _not_ be necessary," he practically snapped before disappearing into the hallway, with such a sudden and particular uncontrolled hostility in his tone of voice that made both Aracelli and Tennent shift their eyes to their corners as he passed.

"Secretary," said Aracelli to Tennent at her side, now that Egon was out of earshot. She turned to Morgan, then Tennent, who was hiding his now almost neurotic state in the thinnest veneer of control now thanks to Aracelli's encouragement. "_Just_ a secretary."

"Yes. Indeed," said Morgan, with a knowing nod of his head, looking askance at the elderly mystic.

* * *

Carrying Janine through the elevator, then the hallway, Egon soon figured out, wasn't exactly going to be the covert operation he so ardently desired that it should be. At least once someone who had remembered Janine stopped him, telling him that he enjoyed listening to and eventually joining in her spirited conversations with Dendron. He also was stopped at least three times by ladies wanting to give him advice of _all_ types, a few of which were too much information and something he didn't expect to hear in such a supposedly polite environment.

Reaching her room, he placed her on the plush chair for a moment until he rooted through her clutch purse with the sole intention of getting her keys.

Getting her door opened, he brought her inside, and gently placed her on her bed. After sitting down for a moment or two to remove his glasses, massage the bridge of his nose and attempt to clear his mind, he couldn't help but watch her. Now that she was somewhere comfortable, she turned to her side, and tucked her hands under the hotel pillow, still smiling. Her lips and cheeks, very, very red.

After a period of silence, he smiled. "Glad you had fun," he whispered.

He got up again, and went to the door, locking and closing it as softly as he could.

"Hmmmm." She said dreamily, stirring a little. "Me, too."


	13. Chapter 13

Note: Gettin' darker. Will get much, MUCH darker. Just to warn ya. ^_^ 

The Damocles Solution 13. 

Tennent hurried his way out the front door into the night. "That is preposterous! I know what you are asking me! I'd never consider it!"

He went down the step or two to the long, curving driveway, briefly looking back to see the figure standing in the doorway.

"That is my offer Dr. Tennent! It is a good one! Please…please reconsider!"

"No! N—never!" said the horrified Tennent as he threw open the door of his car, stepped in, and turned the ignition.

_I must tell someone else knowledgeable about the conversation I had tonight…or I must tell anyone—anyone at all!_

He floored the accelerator, and with a loud squeal of the tires, headed back toward the hotel.

Sweat dripped off his forehead, and threatened to blur his vision. He pulled out his handkerchief, and patted it on his entire face. _If only I could wipe away what I heard tonight! If only…!_

Finding himself on the highway again, he tried every method he could to not think about the proposition. Failing miserably, he clutched the wheel in terror, and brought out his handkerchief again._ If only I could simply wipe away everything about all I know! I knew, I just knew something would mean this trip was a mistake. I must get back to that hotel!_

Driving along, the same empty stretch of highway that he drove past before, now re-opened itself, the only barrier between the highway and the land surrounding was a flimsy line of trees.

_Quite a lot of trailer traffic for this time of night; _ _I feel like my destination is as far away as theirs…I will never get there fast enough!_ He thought desperately.

_Incredible, it was. Completely unexpected. And steeped in complete innocence. That's what made it so much the more twisted…_

He started to talk out loud, oblivious to even doing so in his rush to return to the hotel. "Oh, if I only knew what I know now before I crossed the Atlantic!"

"I will give you another opportunity," said a voice directly behind his ear.

Tennent's heart jumped into his cerebellum; on instinct, he floored the accelerator again, his hands still white-knuckled in the car. Where he left was well-lighted enough for him to know that he entered the car alone.

"Will you accept?" The voice now came from the passenger seat aside of him.

Tennent looked over, trying to keep the direction of the car in check as it sped along. "N—no! You-!"

"…am a messenger delivering a message," said the passenger. "Do you accept?"

"This…this is some sort of twisted nightmare! I am…only seeing illusions and shadows!" gasped Tennet. He swerved out of the way of an oncoming vehicle, after getting an angry blast from the horn.

"Your answer is ssssssstill no?" said the passenger.

"I—I—" he dared to look over at the passenger, but only saw an empty car seat. "N…No!" You can't-!"

"Whyever would you refuse?"

"L—Leave me! Get out of my car! I am wearing a blessed scapular!"

The passenger laughed deeply.

"Get out! Now! Leave me be!"

The silence that ensued gave him the slight hope that his pursuer had tired of him. He looked again at the passenger seat…it was now empty.

"_Shame_," said the voice in mock sorrow, now whispering into his ear.

He drove along madly for a few more seconds, then heard a loud _thud_ on the ceiling of his vehicle, as if a rock or part of a tree had fallen on it. He helplessly looked up at the roof of the car, knowing it was useless do to so.

Returning his eyes to the road, he counted the seconds he thought it would take to get off this damned empty highway. The area where hotel was wasn't far away…

Suddenly, a man-like figure jumped on the hood of the car with a double _SLAM!_ of his feet, and for all of Tennent's frenzied turning of the wheel to dislodge it, it remained perfectly balanced.

"No…no!" cried Tennent, as he spun the wheel around again, this time with more force, in a vain effort to be rid of the horrible spectre. The tires squealed in protest of Tennent's driving.

He cursed loudly as he tried to dislodge the figure on his car, but only saw faint outlines caused by the headlights trying to pierce through the murky darkness. "Damn you…!"

He managed to straighten out the car…and, never hearing the loud warning horn blast in his terror, found the inside of his vehicle shining, lit by the headlights of a heavy-laden trailer.


	14. Chapter 14

Note: Did I ever mention that I don't own any of the coprighted stuff in this fanfic? Nooo, so let me do that now: I don't own any copyrighted stuff in this fanfic. I just wish I did. Then my student loans from 10 years ago would already be paid off. This is purely for entertainment. So if you're not entertained, I have even less to worry about, huh! ^_^

The Damocles Solution 14.

Janine hummed contentedly to herself as the early morning sun shone in. She shifted a little, and snuggled her hands deeper underneath her fluffy pillow. "What a great dinner," she mumbled to herself. "Never thought brainy people could be so much fun." Her eyes cracked open. "Well, Dr. Spengler's sort of fun, but mostly when he's trying not to be, so—"

Her eyes popped the rest of the way open, and she shot up from the bed, then nervously snapped her head this way and that way. "Whaaaaa….? How'd I get here? I was eating…or ah," she innocently held a hand to her head, "rather, I was drinking…and then…"

She noticed something on the bed under her, after groaning to herself in annoyance over how much lipstick she got all over the pillow she slept on. Picking it up, she saw it was a man's handkerchief, with a simple scarlet "S" embroidered on it.

Closing her eyes, she sighed, embarassed. "Oh gaaaaaaaawwwd. I can't believe I let him help me here!"

She got up from the bed heavily. "Oh, well, I'm pretty sure I did good at callin' 'im—," and she lowered her voice and made quotes in the air for a moment, "—'Dr. Spengler' all night, so I gotta pat myself on the back for at least that." She dragged herself off the bed, to the closet. "Ugh. Now I gotta change into somethin' more comfortable."

Soon enough, she was in a nightgown and housecoat again, and curled up with a coffee that room service had so graciously provided. She flipped the TV in the room on, and turned it to the morning news.

The show was just beginning, and the program was capping the top stories of the day. There was the local coverage of the EPIC gathering; an interview with locals saying that there should be regulations on the amount of holiday lights are outside the home (_as if there weren't, yanno,more __important__ things to do a news clip about!_ she thought), and a story about a dog whose tail would pop out when you pushed its nose in.

She rolled her eyes. "Where in heck do these people think this stuff is news?" she complained.

But one in particular was a brief mention of the death of a prominent scientist from overseas, and she started when she recognized his photo.

"Ohmygosh!" she whispered in shock, straightening a bit. "That looks like the guy that sat next to that weird guy with the old lady! At _our_ table!"

She was starting to feel sick. She picked up the phone and dialed Egon's room number, but got forwarded to the front desk.

"Hey! This is Miss Janine Melnitz. in 402. I was trying to call Dr. Egon Spengler in room 414?" she asked the attendant.

"_Oh, yes, he left much earlier this morning. He has a message here in case he would get a call. He will be out indefinitely as he is on urgent business_."

She took it as a healthy hint that he knew about the issue already, but still felt uneasy. She thought for a moment about how many times all the guys just walked out the door into God knows what, and always felt like this about Dr. Spengler. _Hey, Melnitz, if those guys can handle Gozer, that thing on 5__th__, and the Netherworld and still come back and want a pizza and a beer, or even not a beer, but still be back, then it's all good, and you're just watching too many Alfred Hitchcock films…right? Right?_

"Hey…ah…thanks." _And he has a communicator too. So…_

"_Oh, and this is Miss Melnitz? He has a message for you, too. His message says he will contact you the minute he's back, so there's no need for concern_."

"Oh…really?" she asked, grinning. Just for her. She had this one in the bag, and he was one more step toward forgiveable now.

"_Um, yes ma'am_."

She waved her hand in the air. "Well, aren't you great! You just made my day. Thanks for the info!"

"_Uh…you're welcome!_" he said, surprised at her informality and her compliment.

She hung up, still a bit uneasy, but forced herself to return to the news. She made herself watch that stupid story about the weird dog, thinking about what breed of dog would make a good mascot for the team…then groaned, as she remembered Slimer ate enough to be the equivalent of about ten dogs every week, so they'd never be able to afford one, _or_ keep Slimer out of its share of the food.

She snorted, annoyed. Sometimes, thinking about Slimer, she considered herself ready for a change of pace. _After all, Slimer'll never be bright enough to bring a Mercedes or a BMW to the door of the firehouse like Dr. Spengler's cute dragon was. I loved that little guy. Would eat more than a hundred times as much as Slimer, though. _ She sighed, annoyed. _Ya just can't win!_

The news story came on about the death of their table fellow. "Hmmm…ran into a tractor trailer. Police are still investigating the cause…".

And the phone rang.

"Hey…whaddayawant?" she said into the receiver.

"_Oh…well_," said a calm, beautifully elegant voice she recognized on the other end. "_Miss Melnitz? This is Mrs. Rhoda Dendron. Phil's wife_?"

Janine's eyes went wide in excitement. "Wow! Hello again!" she said. "It's really you?"

"_Oh, yes! I am calling to offer you to visit us on our grounds today We can have a car pick you up. We would love your company for the day if you don't have a schedule you need to attend to_."

She pumped a fist in happiness. "Ohmygawd! So Dr. Dendron was serious when he offered?"

"_Oh, yes he was! He loves giving detailed tours of his greenhouse. Just be ready to stay quite a while when he starts talking about his prized collection of carnivorous plants. Some even stay overnight after he insists on giving them a full dinner, so he can showcase the various fruits and vegetables he's growing in the chef's cuisine._" She whispered confidentially. "_But that's just to get them to stay another day so you can see the grounds and the vineyard, the next day, too_."

She was shocked. "He has his own vineyard?"

Rhoda laughed. "_Well, that's more my project than his. But I do say, I love when he takes a look at them and gives his take on how they're growing. I sincerely believe that happy grapes make happier wine!"_

"Wow. Would I ever like to be there! When should I be ready for?"

"_Someone will pull up for you at about two PM…if you are feeling up to it after your dinner last evening...Are—are you alright to travel?_"

"Aaaaaah!" she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I can drink some of the guys I work with under the table. I'm good to go!"

"_Oh…my…_" she said, incredulous. "_Ah, well, in that case we will look forward to seeing you!_"

"Wonderful. You are both so gracious!"

* * *

Peter was buried ankle-high in unopened envelopes as he kneeled on the floor of the firehouse.

He picked some of them up, and threw the envelopes high in the air in joyous celebration. "WOOHOO! Excused! Pardoned! Rescheduled! I LOOOOOVE MY JOB!" he cried at the top of his lungs before falling backwards, flat on his back, on the floor. "I'd never thought they'd get here soooooo fast!" He held up a thumb high in the air from where he lay, and closed his eyes. "Mr. Mailman! You are a great man of service. Thank you thankyouthankyou!"

Opening his eyes, he yelped and started—because he was looking into a pair of goofy-looking, yellowish eyes and a gigantic, green grinning mouth an inch away from his face.

"PEEEETERRR HAPPYYY!" said Slimer before splatting into him unceremoniously.

"EEEW, YUCK!" he cried, flailing his arms. He sat up, pushing the ghost away and then wiping his own gooey face. "Looka spud, just because you have no idea what I'm so happy about _doesn't give you the right to participate_!" he said, each word doubling in fury.

"Awwwwww…" said Slimer, his shoulders falling sadly.

Peter pointed at the ghost. "You're not even supposed to be down here, you're supposed to be sitting _VERY STILL for Ray_!"

The ghost ooooooohed in sudden realization.

"Now you get lost and go hang out with Ray while he works on…whatever he's doing up there, and STAY THERE!" He got up, and started up the stairs to get to the shower. "Cripes almighty, no one can ever say we're not clean people, we must wash at least five times every _DAY_ here…" he grumbled, trailing off as he rose with each stairstep.

Simer shrugged. "Helllllllp Raaaaaaay," he managed to say, and obediently headed up the stairs to get to the lab, following Peter.

Peter turned around suddenly when he saw the ghost a step behind him out of the corner of his eye, and Slimer halted in mid-float in total confusion. The two locked eyes for half a moment.

"_WILL. YOU. STOP. FOLLOWING. ME!_"

Slimer pointed upstairs and scratched his chin. "But…Raaaaay…there!"

He floated a little less closely behind Peter, who was complaining under his breath now that the ghost didn't even _need_ to have anything to do with the stairs at all, and eventually made it into the lab. There was Ray, smiling and waving. "Hey, Slimer!" he said gently, offering the ghost a lab chair, surrounded by lots of whirring and pleasantly zapping gizmos. "How 'bout a guest spot in the hotseat while I test this new imaging device for a sec?"

Slimer turned his head curiously. "Ooooooohkaaaaaaay." He floated over to the chair and down into it.

Ray turned his palms up. "I promise ya this won't hurt a bit, lil' buddy, and also you might think what you're gonna see is pretty neat!" He pointed at a monitor, which Slimer could also easily see from where he sat.

He reached over to Egon's desk, and brought over a small looking device that seemed to have a bright orange shell around it, attached to a very, _very_ long plastic-looking tube with wires snaking inside. In turn, the tube was connected to the monitor Ray previously pointed out.

"This is an ectoplasmic resonance camera, Slimer. It's gonna turn the energy fields inside _you_ to graphics, and display them here on the monitor!"

"Cammmeraaaaaaaaa," confirmed the green spectre, not very thoughtfully.

"And ya know what the best thing about this gadget is?" he leaned in a bit and winked. "It's got a candy coating!"

Slimer's eyes enlarged, and shone brightly. "Caaaaaaannnndyyyy!" he drooled, clasping his little green hands together. Almost spontaneously, the camera disappeared when a huge tongue licked up the camera. Slimer then started to suck in the camera wire as it if were a giant spaghetti.

"Whoa, whoa, boy. WHOA! Lemme turn this thing on." He leaped over to the monitor and switched it on, and with a flash, waited with anxious anticipation to see Slimer's innards and test his theory.

After more than a few minutes, indistinct darker- and lighter-green shapes continually swirled by the camera. Ray could not make sense of any of it, and Slimer just shrugged his shoulders when questioned.

Ray's brow was compressed downward in frustration. "Awww, c'mon, it's gotta be there. It's gotta! We went through almost a mile of tubing already!" He did not see anything confirming his theory yet.

Another half-mile of tubing disappeared into the little green ghost. By now, Ray had his head supported by a hand. "Talk about an alternate universe…," he said to himself in amazement of how large Slimer's internal space actually was compared to his outer appearance.

Now finished with his shower, Peter sauntered into the lab. Curious, he stood behind Ray, slung his towel over his shoulder and fixed on the monitor. "Wow. I think—I think I see the third season of _Freakazoid_ in there!"

Ray turned around, casually glaring at him. "I thought you didn't watch cartoons, Peter."

Peter waved a finger in front of him. "Now, now, Ray. _Freakazoid_ is one of the smartest cartoons ever made. Spielberg fit more sarcasm into one line of script on that show than an entire week's worth of Senate debates."

Ray rolled his eyes. "There's nothin' stupid about _Murray the Mantis_, either. Why even Egon says tha—" He glanced back at the monitor, then slammed his hands down on the desk in front of it, eyes wide with happiness. "WOW! Eureka!"

"What? Whatarewelookin'at?" asked Peter in alarm, getting closer to the image on the screen.

"This is what's inside Slimer!"

Peter flailed his arms around in sudden disgust. "Wha-! Why didn't you say that? No, no…I change my mind. _Freakazoid_'s definitely not in there!" Slimer looked annoyed in response.

Ray waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway. It looks like what's down there is exactly what I've been expecting! _Look_, Peter!"

Peter scrunched his face and backed away. "What the heck am I supposed to be looking at? And is this important enough to drag Sureshot away from finally getting together with his girlfriend after all this time?" All he saw was a view of a surface covered solid in little folds.

"Nah, it's the first time Winston's seen her in over a week. We'll tell 'im later." He couldn't help but smile for a moment at Peter's new pet name for the tall dark Ghostbuster. "Anyway, according to my hunch…those are rugae!" said Ray as he pointed at the screen, enthralled. Slimer looked back and forth from monitor to Ray, not understanding a single word.

Peter also looked back and forth from monitor to Ray, not understanding a single word. "What is that, and why should I care, and when are you moving on to something much better to discuss?"

Ray frowned for a second before continuing. "That's exactly what the lining of our stomachs look like underneath all the protective mucous. I think I've confirmed what Slimer is!He's not a haunted human, true, but he _is_ a potential part of one! A_ haunted stomach!" _

Peter UUUUGGGGGHHHHHHED as loudly as he could, clutching his head.

Ray nodded. "Yeah, really makes ya wonder what they were doing in that hotel to get Gozer's attention!" He flinched and shook. He wanted to make a loud _blech!_ sound, but had enough tact to refrain from doing so, as it might have hurt Slimer's feelings.

Peter moaned again, this time even more loudly. "That…is just..._gross_. A constant ugly reminder of that unthinkable ProbeCorp job! I never wanna look at 'im ever again!"

Slimer obviously understood Peter perfectly well, because he put his hands on wherever his hips should have been, and spit out the tube and camera with a loud, long "raspberry" sound, and gobs of loose ectoplasm. He started babbling angrily at Peter.

"Oh yeah? Oh yeah, ya little food sack? No wonder you chow down everything in sight! No wonder we're using most of our petty cash to replace our own food, and no wonder I could bribe you with nothin' but Winston's chocolate sauce!" he roared.

The spud babbled back in furious incoherency.

"Peter!" said Ray, trying to keep the peace. He sighed, reminding himself that keeping the peace was futile in the firehouse.

"No wonder you're the most _STUPID, DISGUSTING, GROSS thing anyone's ever had to deal with_!"

The insults were starting to cut through Slimer, and tears started welling up in his eyes.

Peter continued, heedless. "_I'd rather deal with a classroomful of nauseated toddlers than you, because at least they get over being nauseated, and __get over being toddlers_!"

Slimer had enough. He broke into a teary bawl, and, flailing his hands, smacked into the wall of the firehouse facing the street, and disappeared into it.

Ray furiously glared at Peter. "Great job, genius, now we hafta go and find 'im again!"

Peter leaned back innocently. "We?"

He felt his body pulled downstairs from the lab. "Yeah, Peter. WE!" said Ray, dragging Peter behind him.

* * *

The limosine glided along the highway in the early morning light, and Morgan proved to be an excellent chauffeur, if a rather stern and silent one.

Egon used the opportunity to do something constructive while he awaited his destination. He opened the combination locks on his briefcase, then examined the contents thereof—there was the calculator, the slide rule, the PKE meter. Underneath the PKE meter, there was the all-too-familiar stack of envelopes that held the court summons paperwork, silently mocking him. Picking up the banded stack of it, he turned down his mouth and wondered how many times Peter was on the phone, screaming his head off at some poor underpaid employee about the injustice of the justice system.

About to replace the envelopes, he saw a sheet of bright advertising that he knew was not there before. He took it out and examined it. All sorts of diamond rings were elegantly pictured on the front, with a list of jewelry store names that have seemed to be sponsors this pamphlet. _The Diamond District—the Key to Your Forever, Right in Midtown!_ was the slogan on the cover.

Egon gasped, terrified at the implications of the document.

And he certainly did not put this in here. He opened the pamphlet, and inside was a letter.

"_Hey, Spengs!_

_The guys and I decided this was a prodigious time to present to you this little piece of advice for your lovin' needs, since Winston was lookin' at em anyay. Check 'em out, some of 'em don't cost an arm and a leg, and we're sure you'll find a style she'd like._

_We examined the whole thing for a skull and crossbones version, or a ball and chain version but couldn't find one. Maybe one of the shops can special order one for ya._

_The Venkmeister_."

His eyes went wide.

Then he had to stop and think. This briefcase was never unlocked at the firehouse. That meant—

He noticed there was more he didn't read.

"_P.S., Spengs—Wanna know how I got the combination for your briefcase? It's from your oh-so-careful count I found of how many times you've had to flush Slimer's crap out my proton gun when he happened to be on a mission with us and splatted into me! Is THAT slick of me or what? Hope you're a smart enough boy to not wear your long johns for these few days, and keep in touch! _"

He now felt nothing but immensely and irreparably violated, yet again, due to Peter's attention-starved antics. He snapped his hand holding the letter into a fist, crushing the pamphlet, and grinding his teeth with righteous anger.


	15. Chapter 15

Note: Thank you for your reviews! ^_^

The Damocles Solution 15.

The limo pulled past the iron gates, and up to the long, curved path to the front door.

Morgan stepped out, and opened the door for Egon, who, in silence, straightened his jet black suit, picked up his briefcase, and made his way to the elaborate entrance. Morgan lagged behind, and went around the other side to seemingly get some things out of the car.

Egon observed the spacious grounds of Dolores Aracelli's grand home, which included a garden which seemed to need an entire payroll of groundskeepers itself. One of them was in the distance, cutting away at a shrub with a rather large set of garden shears, moving just out of sight, behind a corner of the house once in a while.

About ready to push the intercom button himself, Egon stiffened as he heard a voice behind him.

"Allow me, please."

Egon turned his head a bit, and, suddenly, _there_ was Morgan. As Morgan pushed the intercom button and simply said "Assisstance, please," Egon's brow slightly contracted as he took another look back at the limo, parked rather far away from the front door. He thought it odd how Morgan could make the distance from car to door in such a short time, as he was a rather large, heavy man—just as tall as himself, but as opposed to having a rather heavyish runner's physique like his own, he was built more like Peter, stocky and firepluggish. However, Egon brushed it off as he knew he was steeping in fury over Peter breaking in to his briefcase, and fury always tends to bend time, occupying thoughts for much longer than estimated. He figured about ten, maybe twenty, or even potentially thirty years his life (or more) were lost already in fury with Peter.

There was the sound of the front door unlocking and opening, and Morgan gave a few words of business to the waitstaff, who were prepared to guide them inside.

Before he stepped over the threshold, Egon gave the gardens one last look, and gasped when looking down—there was the uniformed groundskeeper from before, _right there_ next to the steps, looking up at him with a rather strange, intense expression. Or…was it the same man? He glanced across the lawn, and the man around the corner was not there…however, he really had been too far away to see any unique details, and the man was working on a spot blocked by a corner, so Egon assumed that there was more than one on duty. The grounds were rather large, and in some places the grass quite high, and it would only make sense to have more than one tender scheduled to finish the job more efficiently, particularly the topiaries. Egon continued into the house, which was the only thing that seemed could be done to break the stare from the gardener.

The physicist was given the offer from one of the staff to take his briefcase, which he politely refused. The waitstaff, finished with their greetings, dispersed again to their various stations inside the mansion. They seemed bright, professional, and capable…but before they parted, they also seemed to have been not just looking at him, but also subtley drinking up the sight of him as they waited for Morgan's directions.

Morgan grasped his hands behind his back, and bowed for a brief moment as he spoke. "Mrs. Aracelli will be with you in a brief moment. She wishes firstly to give you a tour of the mansion when she arrives, as she is sure there are many artifacts in her collection that would pique your curiosity."

Egon put his free hand in its pocket, and nodded silently to the assisstant. Any speaking he might do would immediately betray his burning urgence to discuss the most important subject at hand with the lady of the house, and his intense distaste for being taken on a housewarming tour instead. However, as he learned from his regular contact with the upper echelon of the scientific world, there was nothing more he could do in a meeting with peers other than patiently ride out their annoying pre-business informalities.

Now that he had an unfortunate spare moment, he took the opportunity to glance around Aracelli's entryway and parlor. There were, indeed, many bizarre artifacts here. Various lamps, sconces, and paintings lined the walls, accenting the rich, scarlet-red décor here and there. Various family pictures, most of them featuring young children, were hung in a neat line above the plush parlor furniture, facing the door. They were rather large for the room they were presented in, so it was almost as if they were hung right in one's face upon entering the house.

Moving along, he was drawn to a particularly curious item, only because he saw something like it before. He stepped over to it, recognizing the Jormungar artwork on the very tall, spear-like bronze brazier before him. It seemed remarkably similar to Aracelli's cane.

The brazier was taller than he was, because the tongue of the serpent teminated in a rather large, deadly-seeming arrow point. Down in the serpent'e eye was placed a large, brilliant sapphire-like jewel. The whole brazier was held up by a very heavy-looking base, around which the serpent's tail coiled.

Done with the curiosity inspection, he switched the briefcase into his right hand. He impatiently snapped up his wrist to glance at the time again, and returned the free hand to a pocket.

"Dr. Spengler. Welcome. I see you are eager to discuss Ragnarock."

Egon, raked out of his thoughts, started ever so slightly as he was so unexpectantly addressed by Aracelli. The woman was extremely observant, and also extremely silent, even when walking with a cane. Perhaps the plush carpeting underneath dampened the sound of her cane as she walked along.

"Please," she continued, smiling placidly. "Let me show you the rest of the house. This is such an unpleasant reason to have a guest. I implore you, have some patience, and allow me to attempt to cast a better mood on your visit before we go over anything."

Egon looked back silently, and nodded. Internally, he was strangling the impatient voice inside him screaming that this was phenomenally ridiculous, and there were many, many more important things to discuss at this moment.

* * *

Peter and Ray were watching the trail of slime, which appeared here and there as they ran.

The redhead panted as he pumped his arms. "Well, it's easy keeping track of where he splatted into because he's so upset. What's hard is keeping up with 'im!"

They made their way, rounding corners and almost knocking walkers out of the way. Ray found himself apologizing again and again over his shoulder to many rather annoyed people.

Over the street to 5th Avenue they ran, and the slime trail lead them north along it. Peter made a quick stab at all the supposedly litigation-crazy business owners along the avenue.

Ray stopped short and pointed sternly, almost getting them ran over by a taxi. "There-there he is!"

Peter looked toward where Ray was pointing, and facepalmed. "Oh, nooooooooo."

Slimer was floating in front of a window of a shop.

A _formal wear_ shop.

The two of them finally caught up to the ghost, who was gazing inside sadly. "Slimer? Buddy? Whatcha lookin' at there?"

The green ghost burst into ectoplasmic tears at Ray's concern. He pointed furiously at the shop.

"Wha? You wanna go in?" Ray asked.

Slimer nodded vigorously, babbling what sounded like "not a stomach".

Ray looked at Peter, and shrugged. Turning again to the little green ghost, he patted him on the head. "You want really wanna look at tails and cuff links? Uh, sure. I'll go in with ya."

Slimer nodded happily, his mood changing instantly.

Inside the store, Peter adjusted his baseball cap in an effort to cover his face. "Slimer," he whispered under the very low brim, "you better not touch _anything_ in here. One piece of clothing could set us back a few weeks, yanno."

"Peter, this is all because you were just plain mean!" chastised Ray quietly, trying to ignore the many stares the patrons of the shop were giving the three of them. "I think he's here because he feels about as big as the size of the head of a pin right now, and wants to dress nicely to make up for it. You should apologize to him and at least buy him a top hat and cuffs or something! He feels bad enough now!"

Peter balked. "What? _MOI_, buy this floating digestive tract formal wear? Are you kidding?"

Ray returned his attention to the ghost. "Hey, Slimer. Go pick out one or two things you reeeeeeeallly like and we'll get 'em fer ya. And if Peter," he said punctuatedly, "doesn't agree, you have my permission to slime him right here and now in payback!"

Peter ground his teeth in disgust. "That's blackmail!" he hissed.

Slimer, now happy as a clam from Ray's support, nodded again, and floated off in search of something that interested him.

* * *

Slimer looked in the mirror, and elegantly threaded his little fingers together. He raised his eyebrows, admiring his new top hat and cuffs.

After a long, drawn out "ooooooooo!", Ray winked. "Lookin' flashy, Slimer!"

"Still a stomach…," grumbled a much poorer Peter miserably.

Ray glared at Peter for a moment, then returned to smiling at Slimer. "Awww, look at 'im, Peter. He's so cute!" Slimer elegantly batted his eyelashes. "Looka that. You can dress him up, _and_ you can take him out anywhere you want!"

Peter suddenly headed toward the door. "That's it, then, I'm done takin' him out. We found 'im, we blew some money on 'im, we're going home and locking 'im in a lab chair."

Slimer and Ray followed Peter out the door, to the immense relief of the shop owner and patrons.

Rounding the corner and heading down the street, they noticed an immediate change in Slimer. He floated with an elegance now. A rather _forced_ elegance, similar to that of driving the round peg into the square hole with a jackhammer, but nonetheless an elegance.

All three of them stopped when two neighborhood kids started running toward them. "Lookit that!" said one with a cocked baseball hat and rather oversized blue jeans. "That's Dr. V! And Dr. Stantz! They're my heroes! Let's go talk to 'em!"

"Well, I'm gonna get to 'em before you, Timmy!" said the other, a bit shorter of a boy with a shock of curly red hair.

"Oh, no you ain't!"

They ran right up to the two Ghostbusters. "Hey! What do we have here!" said Ray amicably. "You boys seen us on TV?"

"Yeah! On the news, a lot! I'm Timmy, and this is James. He's my little brother!" said the boy with the cap, pointing first to himself, then thumbing toward the redheaded boy unceremoniously.

"Nice to meet you two boys," said Peter with a smile.

James pointed to Slimer. "And we know exactly who that is too! That's Slimer. He's awesome!"

Slimer, already feeling like a million bucks, babbled happily, doing a somersault in the air. Peter winced watching him, assuming that the hat was so gummed up by ectoplasmic goo by now it acted as a sort of adhesive, and prevented the hat from falling off when he did so. Eeeewww.

The dark haired psychologist winked at James' statement. "It's a lot different when ya live with 'im, kiddo," he said, and Ray gave him a solid but discreet elbow to the chest.

A third voice was heard, coming closer. "You boys better not be bothering these gentlemen!" said a well-dressed, beautiful woman, who held the hand of a little girl clutching a teddy bear.

"Oh! Not bothering us at all, ma'am!" said Peter, suddenly eyeing her like a kid in a candy store.

"Oh…good," she said. "I'm Mrs. Justine Cosser. These are my boys, who I'm sure you've met," she added, rolling her eyes, "and this is my daughter, Madisonne Bryttnye. And this must be Slimer." She nodded reluctantly toward the green ghost.

Slimer grinned broadly, and made an excellent effort to bow and tip his hat toward the lady.

"Where the heck he learn that?" asked Peter, incredulously.

"Oh, probably some TV show or something," Ray replied with a laugh.

"Ooooooh!" said Timmy, looking like he suddenly got a brilliant idea. "Yanno how they made that movie about you guys? Well, maybe Slimer should get his own TV show!"

"We can call Slimer 'Smiler'!" said James, and both the boys and Ray laughed heartily. The spud ooooed, babbled, and cheered in approval…as formally as he could.

"Oh, you boys," said the mother long-sufferingly. "If there was any TV show about these fine gentlemen, it would have to be age-appropriate. It would have to have no shooting, no violence, and positively _nothing at all really scary_!"

The boys awwwwed in disappointment.

Mrs. Cosser shook a finger at the boys. "I'm having yet another word with your father about him taking you to that movie! He's created quite the little monsters himself!"

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Actually, ma'am, they've got a point. If I want any sort of authorized biography, I want my life shown for the sickening, dangerous, bizarre, dangeous, gross, and _dangerous_ life it really is."

"Well, how about something loosely based on your work?" insisted Mrs. Cosser. "You gentlemen don't have to use your own names for it, I'm sure." She winked. "I'm in the legal business, so I know! You can call it '_Smiler! And…uh, oh yeah, Ralfie, Wally, Poncho and Edwin_!' You can have your little ghost dressed in the top hat and cuffs, and condense your adventures into cute, child-appropriate fifteen-minute animated episodes! I'm sure the network executives would _love _the idea just as much as I do!" She winked again. "I know a few of them, so I've got that covered, too!"

"Poncho? _PONCHO_?" objected Peter quietly.

Ray winked at the boys. "I think an animated series starring us is a great idea, but we're gonna have to get it past Miss Melnitz first."

The boys blushed and smiled.

"Janine," said Mrs. Cosser's daughter shyly. She smiled adorably. "Janine fights off the ghosts, too!" she said, from behind the teddy bear's head.

"Now, now," said Mrs. Cosser. "I think you and other little girls need good role models."

Ray shot Peter a bristled look for the not-so-hidden offense of their secretary. Peter looked back with the same expression, and when both men turned their attention to Mrs. Cosser again, she seemed totally oblivious to their sudden ire.

Mrs. Cosser smiled broadly. "As a parent, I think it'll be a big hit if—um, _Janine_-can written as your good and wholesome mother hen!" She started to have a dreamy, far-away look about her face that made Peter and Ray look at each other and shrug. "She can fall in love with a dashing, down-home, earthy sort of man…maybe a schoolteacher-or an accountant!-who looks forward to having dozens of children!" She started gathering up her boys, and excused herself. "Have a good day, gentlemen! Pleased to have met you! Now let's leave these nice men and their, ah-ghost-alone!"

As she and her kids hurried down the street, Peter and Ray stood there, ruminating.

"Those kids are gonna be watching _Romper Room_ reruns until they're 40," said Peter ascerbically as all three of them turned toward home. "And it doesn't take a psych degree to figure out that Janine'll positively trash the studio if she ever finds out she's been turned into a sorry animated attempt at a Stepford wife. She'll do it another two or three times if they refuse to mention her starry eyes for Dr. 'I'm Clueless-What-To-Do-Because-She-Likes-Me', 'Spores, Mold and Fungus' Spengler."

"I dunno, Peter," said Ray, Slimer now floating aside him. "I can see Janine pretty upset, but…going off the deep end that badly because the Powers That Be would wanna keep it squeaky clean?"

"Tex, you know she'll do it."

Ray looked thoughtful. "You think an idea like that is gonna be _that _bad?"

"Yup. This is how executive meddling works…next thing people like her'll wanna write in is Slimer as my bestest buddy." He winced at the thought. "I've seen it happen to good shows already, I don't want any part of it, and my dad would most likely have a hand in it if it ever happens!"

Ray looked forward again, and after few more moments of thought, had to nod in agreement.

* * *

Egon figured that Aracelli must have been particularily isolated without more members of her family around resulting in her present loquaciousness. She took him from room to room, telling him about various pieces of art that her husband had collected over the years before he passed away. She kept the pieces around because they reminded her of him, she said. "Others would find this home rather cluttered, however I call it cozy."

Deep within the home, she brought him into another room. "This is where my husband used to do much of his reading. You'll notice that it's rather dark compared to the other rooms…he absolutely loved relaxing in low lighting. I think the fluorescent lights at the office wore him down more than anything."

"Erm….interesting," he lied. He did notice, however, that there was yet another Jormungar brazier in the room. It was probably the third one he saw, which was, he had to admit to himself, interesting. He found it strange they were not all kept together; it would be much more logical to do that to display the pieces, he thought, even if they were placed outside somewhere.

The intercom buzzed. "Ma'am, there is a news reporter at the front door, he wishes to speak to you."

"Fine, Morgan. I will go there and see what he wishes to ask. I will be there when I can." She turned and looked far up to the tall physicist, as her head came past his elbow by a few spare inches. "If you will excuse me, I shall return shortly. Do feel comfortable enough to open a book and read if you wish, as my legs aren't what they used to be."

She left the room, and he knew he would be left alone for quite a while.

Having absolutely no desire to read, he settled for sitting in a plush chair. Something was indeed very odd about the staff here. He couldn't pinpoint what it was; they all seemed capable, professional, familiar with each other. But something still gnawed at him.

His mind kept returning to how quickly they seemed to move. Or did they?

While waiting for Aracelli to return, out of a combination of curiosity, annoyance, and boredom, he arose from his chair and set his briefcase on a table, unlocked it, took out the PKE meter, and turned the power knob.

The alarm rang, and its sensor arms rose high, far above parallel. His eyes widened in shock at the intensity of the signals on the meter. At least one class VII, _very_ nearby, with multiple class IVs, and the odd Jormungar brazier in this room gave off an inconclusive, but powerful, pulsating reading. There were also echoes of what he couldn't tell were lower intensity entities, or energy that was located further away.

In short, the whole house was a haven for demonic energy.

The strong readings. Her rather laxadasical attitude toward the Ragnarock subject matter. The timely death of Jeremy Whittington. His and Tennent's invitations to a rather distant occasion. Her insistance on his visit-it was like an orchestration. It only took one reading for him to put it together…

"Aracelli! She-!"

He was cut short by a heavy slap on his right shoulder, then a horrible, burning sensation of short knives digging into it.

The pain and downward pressure continued; it forced him to drop the PKE meter to the ground, and himself, down to one knee.

Gritting his teeth, he reached around to grab the arm of his uknown assailant, and, kicking back, managed to throw the offender down to the floor. He stopped there on his knee for an instant, gratified that he paid more attention than Peter when Winston was giving the men self-defense pointers.

The assailant, also wearing a suit, straightened. He seemed at first rather stunned that his victim was able to defend himself so well. He resembled Morgan in features, but now, his face was covered in what looked like thick, greenish, snakeskin-like hide, and his fingers sported long, white claws, the claws on his right hand tinged bright red. "She told me to pay closssssssse attention and granted me full reign if you ever brought out one of your technical toys," he hissed, recovering all too quickly. He stomped heavily on the still ringing PKE meter, silencing its alarm.

Egon straightened also, and his eyes went wide seeing the assisstant so changed. He had to desperately grab his shoulder for a moment in a vain attempt to make it stop throbbing, and Morgan swung high, taking advantage of the distraction. Egon ducked it by a mile, but received another deep knife-like swipe on the other arm when Morgan followed up low.

The physicist purposely went down, and gave a powerful kick to Morgan's knee, making him howl and knocking him on the floor.

Now back on his feet, Egon backed up, and took in hand the only thing in his immediate reach he saw that could temporarily assisst him in defending himself—the odd Jormungar brazier behind him.

He reared up the brazier, pointing at Morgan like a spear, then hurled it at him with a grunt.

Morgan already was recovering by the time Egon thrust the brazier point; sensing the incoming weapon, he grabbed a hold of the shaft an inch away from his face, and a power struggle began.

The pause gave Egon the opportunity to see a flash of horror on Morgan's face as it seemed the demon realized what weapon he was using to defend himself. Egon had absolutely no time to analyze it.

Morgan's strength was, sensibly, inhuman, and Egon couldn't resist Morgan's countering forward pull. The demon, though he should have been completely off balance due to the weight of the base, followed up with two immense direct hits; the flat, floor-side end of the brazierhit the right side of his chest with a force that made him yelp, and he could feel bones breaking as it hit him.

Another paranormally fast jab hit him on the left side; the communicator in his chest pocket absorbed damage from the direct blow, as he heard it crack, and felt it come to pieces, and the side underneath it begin to bruise also.

The blows knocked the wind out of him, and he fell back against the door to the room. He sunk to a knee, wrapping his left arm around himself; he was sure the communicator was beyond repair now, and also so out of range he'd have to wait for a half minute of time he didn't have for it to connect.

His only hope was to reach the front door and run…hopefully the reporter and his car were still there…if they were, in fact, really there at all.

He opened up the door to the hallway, and, gripping his right side, ran as fast as his body would allow him.

A loud hiss was heard on the intercom of the house, followed by a terrifyingly brutal "Assisstance, NOW! Entrance, second floor lounge hall!"

Were his body intact, he could have easily flown down the hallway, down the stairs, and out the door; with a runner's long legs, he was always the first one to reach the destination when in a hurry with the rest of the men. However, now he was torn between being too injured to breathe, and gasping for air; his broken ribs now did nothing but slow him down immensely as he ran, and he saw now that he was purposely lured far into the home by Aracelli's senseless small talk to make his potential escape more than difficult.

It was, for a moment, too much, and he had no choice but to back up against a wall and catch his breath; that was an effort in futility also, because the more he did so, the more pain it revealed, and he found himself wincing, sliding down the wall again as he gripped his side.

He heard footsteps in the hallway approaching him from behind; no doubt the rest of the staff was demonic also, and Morgan now had them ready for him throughout the building. He had to keep moving.

Steeling himself to continue running, he grunted, and pushed himself away from the wall. He looked back for an instant…and berated his stupidity as he saw the large red streak, left behind from his shoulder, against the brilliant white wall. It marked his trail like a deer to a hunter.

He continued running, panting heavily, and each breath threatened to floor him. Rounding a turn that lead to a stairwell, he almost ran headlong into a group of three demonic waitstaff that appeared out of nowhere, just like Morgan had. They immediately grabbed hold wherever they could and tore in with their claws. Egon's adrenaline made him stubbornly wrestle their combined effort, and when he proved to be much for even the three of them, another two were called over, and soon enough he was surrounded, trapped like a prized animal. He saw all over again that look in their eyes he sensed when he first walked in…that look that send chills down his spine, the look of those desiring the capture of their hunted.

They wasted no time in negotiations, and dove in toward him at once.

A low, narrow table near the stairwell was cleared off, and each demon grabbed a limb; he was unsanctimoniously tossed on top like an offering, still vainly trying to wrest himself from their claws, letting loose a pained yelp everytime a shoulder or his side was involved. The demon holding his right wrist held on especially tightly, and when he struggled too much, it seemed to lose patience and gave it a jarring turn. He yelped again when he felt something in his wrist snap.

Held at bay by one demon holding onto each limb, another knelt down at his head. All the hands that gripped him seemed like iron locks, and another scaly, clawed hand held his mouth shut as his head hung over the edge of the table.

Morgan finally limped down the hall, and stopped next to the demon who covered his mouth. He leaned over his catch. "You obviously, at this point, are not interested in working _with_ us, Dr. Spengler."

Egon growled, and tried using a foot on the edge of the table to prop him up, the hands around his limbs tightened, and he winced hard, fighting against the grip on his wrist with a muffled groan.

Morgan grinned. He looked calmly into Egon's upside-down, furiously and painfully narrowed, icy eyes. "So we shall have to seek ways of making you work…_for_ us."


	16. Chapter 16

Note: Thanks so much to the awesome 'possum folks at Ectozone DOT com for checking out my fic chapter by chapter to make sure I got everything down correctly. You rawk! I wish I could buy each one of you a box of Twinkies!

The Damocles Solution 16.

The air was thick and humid, and smelled ever so slightly floral.

Four pairs of eyes peeked over the top of the plant box, shaded by four canvassy jungle hats.

"Dad…don't you think the hats were a little much? Most of these plants aren't even native to jungles anyway!" said Rosie Dendron.

"Rosie!" said Dr. Phil Dendron making a gesture of quiet toward the dark-haired woman aside him. "When dealing with the savage, you must prepare for the savage!"

"Phil, dear, our guest I'm sure is ready to move on to the desert room…we've been getting an education on carnivorous plants here for half an hour!" said Rhoda.

Dendron shushed them. "It's not good to agitate a true hunter! Now, ladies," he whispered intensely, pointing into the plant box, "we will shortly be able to see the crowning achievement in the evolution of plant savagery…the capture and devouring of a higher life form, by no other than the Venus Flytrap!"

Janine stared intensely at the little plant before her. She could swear she was getting a back cramp from crouching next to Dendron's carnivorous plant table for so long…musta' been five minutes already. But she still found herself intrigued, in almost a scientific way. And Dendron sounded like he could have been the star on _Wild Kingdom_ rather than that other guy, because he made this much more interesting than it really had to be. Or probably even was.

Soon enough, she heard a buzzing, and a small black insect flew around her head.

"There! There is the prey destined for the maw of awaiting death!" Dendron's eyes went wide as he pointed toward the fly, eager with anticipation of the coming view of a meal for the little carnivorous plant.

The insect landed on the clawed leaves.

"Look! It's the final miscalculation!" Dendron said, as the leaves closed around the insect and the long spikes on either side intertwined.

Rosie and Rhoda Dendron stood up straight, finally, now that the little show was over. "Good, Phil, now let's take our guest to the next room." Rhoda patiently waited for her husband to snap out of his amazement at the capture.

Dendron's brow furrowed. "Remember Miss Melnitz, the lesson you've seen today! Keep it safe within you and use it to strengthen you in times of need!"

"Gotcha, Doctor!" she said, drawing her eyebrows in.

"Right, dad," said Rosie with a grin. "If I have the chance to choose between a pretty looking leaf and a pile of poop, I'm landin' on the thing that stinks!"

Dendron looked positively crestfallen, and Janine and Rhoda desperately tried to keep in their laughter. "Uh…Rosie…that's not..exactly…"

* * *

In the gigantic greenhouse, Dr. Dendron, his wife, daughter, and Janine moved on to a sandy-floored area with a stone path through it, surrounded by more odd looking plants of all sizes. "Now what I have here are cacti that I have transported in from many interesting areas from all around the globe. The Sahara especially. I enjoy the challenge of growing non-native species!" he said, leading them through the area.

"Wow," said Janine. "If I didn't read what I did from your books, I didn't think it'd be possible to grow things like this in the humid, rainy East Coast, especially completely unprotected from our weather!"

"Well, I do say that my values are old-fashioned, and that is what incurs my success at maintaining these difficult non-natives. No one can possibly underestimate the value of LOVE!"

Janine looked somewhat downcast at the word, and Rhoda's brow knitted in concern when she saw this.

"I got a question I've always wanted to ask you, Doctor…do you think love…is _enough_?"

Dendron gesticulated dramatically. "Why, what an intriguing question. And my answer is: YES! Yes, I do think it's enough. Because how canlove be defined?"

Rosie laughed. "Don't even get him started on that, or you'll be here a whole week!"

Janine turned to her with a smile as Dendron continued his external monologue.

"It's of the utmost importance in growing difficut species! You must ask yourself, Miss Melnitz…What, precisely—_is_—LOVE? Why, it's doing some soul searching first—can I take care of and ensure the happiness of this species? Is it unreasonable for me to do so?" He raised a forefinger. "After answering those, and deciding to take on the challenge, it becomes some very, very common sense things! It's researching what your plant needs, Miss Melnitz. Notice that I said _NEEDS_! Then adjusting as much as possible to accomodate that. Finding the tools, and being determined to create the healthiest environment for that species. And, if try as you might, you cannot get the plant to work with you, and it does poorly," and he added the next phrase very quickly, under his breath, "or, ahem, it grows to a monstrosity-sized nightmare and threatens to take over a major city," and then he cleared his throat, "then you must give it, and yourself, some tough love. Tough love means knowing when to say goodbye, Miss Melnitz. After all, as I write in many of my books, plants are living beings—"

"—and not guarantees," Janine finished, sadly.

Rhoda placed a warm hand on the secretary's shoulder, concerned even more now about her mood. "Phil, I get the impression we may not be just talking plants here." She turned to Janine. "In fact, my husband recently refreshed my memory about your knight in shining armor, who I assume was that young blond man at the table, the last time you all met. Why not stay here, and we can have some girl talk tomorrow? You look like you need some."

Janine waved her hands. "Oh, I couldn't stay! I feel like I'd be imposing!"

"Not at all. I said over the phone this was inevitable, and I want to give my piece just as much as my husband was able to. He'd never let it go if I didn't."

Janine sighed. "Oh, all right. Thank you so much. I'm so glad I could make this trip and see all of you!"

"A few words about some individual species here, and then…_on _to the tropical exhibit!" announced Dendron, pointing forward intrepidly.

* * *

A low, sighed groan was the only thing to escape the physicist as he awoke. He cracked open his eyes, and what he could see of the room while lying there went from fuzzy, to slightly less fuzzy. All he could tell was that he was much worse off since the last time he was conscious, he was lying somewhere underground, and that his glasses weren't spared after his attack. Everything was so horribly out of focus, it seemed like every wall, and the ceiling also, was a solid, fuzzy brown; however, yellowish lights were steadily glowing, giving the room a fair enough amount of illumination to tell the area was large, but not overly so.

His brow contracted. He smelled the thickness of the chilly air, and felt the cool earthy floor underneath with his cheek and the hand he could see lying in his sight. When he tried to move the hand, his wrist protested so loudly, it caused him to gasp. He had to snap his head to rest on the opposite arm; he squeezed his eyes shut, and squeezed his intact hand closed until it shook; he ground his teeth from the answering pain on not just one, but both sides now.

He could keep the sensation down to a dull roar as long as he didn't move anything, but his own inner curiosity, not to mention alarm, demanded he know more of his surroundings.

He found that the left wrist didn't protest like the right; he was able to ever so slowly hoist himself up to one arm and an elbow with gritted teeth and a grunt.

Sitting back wrestled a soft cry out of him. Every single muscle seemed to have been dug in by claws and made movement excruciating. Feeling broken stones on the ground, he started patting around with his left hand, and eventually found a crumbling stone wall to the back of this—_chamber_-where he was held. He backed up against it, throwing his head back, clutching his torso in an effort to brace it, trying not to gasp with each movement.

He now had a few spare moments to think about what had occurred. It was difficult. The pain from the attack was like loud, obnxious background noise, ever threatening to distract him from his thoughts. However, he was able to think clearly just enough to remember what he considered most important. The strong, odd readings from the Jormungar braziers in the room he was in before the attack, and Morgan's horrified look when Egon desperately resorted to using one of them as a weapon, meant that the braziers were definitely attuned to serve as some sort of power channel for Aracelli's supernatural abilities, which she had through her apparent worship of the leviathan, Jormungar. Destroying them would certainly null her power.

The only problem, he considered, as he shifted painfully, was either getting in touch with the rest of the men, or getting hold of a source to channel ionic energy himself to destroy those braziers.

He breathed in shallowly and slowly, and exhaled through his mouth deeply. And frustratedly.

"Good night, Dr. Spengler," said a recognizeable saccharine-sweet voice.

Through his blurred vision, he could see over the bridge of his nose what he surmised was Dolores Aracelli, calmly standing in the center of the underground chamber, and a darkness inbetween silvery glints which he recognized as her cane in front of her.

He had no idea how long she was there. He could not even say anything yet, but he saw her blur moving slightly, and heard her sighing. "I seriously hoped there would be another way to do this, however, the direct approach to resolving issues seemed so unsatisfying. So final. And, since I am speaking to someone whom I consider an equal, I am giving you the option to indulge in what promises to be a rather aspiring golden age project of mine."

"I am not interested…in any of your projects," growled Egon, glaring at her as much as he could without his glasses.

"I knew as much. I am afraid that you are too incredibly brilliant for your own good, Dr. Spengler, since it didn't take you long to discover the secret behind my staff when you used your machine without us able to discuss anything first. I will simply have to forward to extricating cooperation."

"Very efficient, as I would have refused either way."

He could see her figure stepping closer to where he was held. Now he could somewhat see the blur of her round face and some details of her clothing. She stopped at a certain point, and he could see that at her feet, swirling energy-like waves were rising and falling. There seemed to be some sort of barrier between her and himself.

"I see. And if I cannot extricate cooperation-," she said evenly.

"And you…will not," he interrupted, forcing himself to speak just as evenly.

She made a sound like a single laugh. "Dr. Spengler. We have just met, and you jump to assumptions already. The truth is, I already have things progressing in quite a pleasing way. After all, now that you are so inconvenienced, I will nonetheless resume my quest to obtain Fenrir's flute unimpeded by such silly things as checks and balances."

"Why don't you just…kill me now?" he said, closing his eyes and adjusting his position with a slight grunt. Without his glasses, his eyes were useless more than six inches away from anything in front of them, anyway.

"Because, my dear young man…when I get the Flute, you will be the first to work for me. And the rest of the world will follow easily."

He turned up a side of his mouth, in a slight snarl. "Rather illogical to keep me…as a prize or a pet while you…still have no idea where the altar is."

"Not exactly. My staff, Morgan in particular, has been working on this issue for quite a long time, and he has some connections in the demonic realm; he can convince certain powers to help him, however, he will need a very short amount of additional time finding the correct channels, as doing so is rather inconvenient."

Egon shuddered in the chilly underground air to think of how correct he was to say that Jeremy probably had paranormal assisstance in finding the altar. Maybe not through Morgan, but if he was familiar with the occult, he most certainly could find his own way.

"After all, it was possible the location of the altar was even in another realm. Until he does so, you still have the opportunity to cooperate. And, from what I understand, the rest of your business partners are rather crippled without your presence; so I have no reason to fear being found by them anytime soon."

He let out a quick, defiant puff of air; he thought it best not to say anything about the Ghostbusters-or especially Janine-at all, and leave Aracelli in her ignorance and stupid underestimation of the other three men. He thought the elder woman might be as close as she said to her goal, and could even be using this conversation, and in fact, the whole effort of keeping him alive at this point, as an opportunity to get more information about them out of him. No doubt there was an increased perceived threat due to his frighteningly accurate assumption, which he mentioned at the dinner, about using additional demonic aid to find Fenrir's altar.

"You are quite more than a prize or a pet; you are a keystone. My hope has greatly been strengthened since your arrival in this chamber."

"You put a lot of confidence…in false hope," he said, shifting a little again in discomfort, and still bracing his side.

"Then you may remain here and reconsider your foolishness of not even considering what I have to offer."

His attempts at even breathing cut through the silence as she turned to walk away. "You killed Jeremy…didn't you?"

She stopped with a scuffle, and made the single breathy laugh again. "If I was his Hearer instead of the little man that accompanied him, we would be living like gods right now. That was the sole purpose for which I so graciously taught him. However, he did the final research of the altar's location on his own, and he would have never told me the location of it had I asked him. I'm sure there was some way for him to even keep it from his little friend, to protect his sensitivities. He had, therefore, rather outlived the purpose for which I taught him."

"You couldn't manage one student…and you think you can run…the entire world. Terrible judge…of your own character, you are."

Her blur stiffened straight. "I am done chit chatting with you for now," she said over her shoulder, her tone much less saccharine, and was now starting to sound truly annoyed. "I cannot believe you are so steeped in such a horrible attitude." She made her way with her cane over to the large blackish blur in the wall, which seemed like an exit archway. "Ridiculous, when you have all the possible knowledge avaliable to you to be able to live better than a king. I made the right decision in curtailing my long-suffering patience with this issue." She made her way out of the chamber.

When he was confident that enough time had elapsed, he dug in his jacket, and pulled out the shattered communicator. After ignoring the fact that his hand and the device was now covered in blood from the simple act of reaching into his shirt pocket, he examined the communicator by holding it inches away from his eyes and forcing himself to focus on it.

He swtiched it on, and the small light on it did not register that there was power in the device. It was conceiveable that the damage was simple and reparable, but without opening up the case it was impossible to tell.

And he soon found that trying to even open the case was an effort in futility; he needed to be able to move quickly and efficiently, should Aracelli think of setting someone to guard him while she was gone, and not one inch of his body was cooperating. He needed two hands, and his useless right hand had to remain limp by his side, because one false move would cause a horrific, debilitating chain reaction of pain. He also, ideally, needed to see more clearly, and pain and blood loss aimply added to the complication of losing his glasses.

He growled, shut the broken communicator off, and dropped it aside him in frustration, and for a moment leaned his head far back against the wall.

His interest, then, was soon drawn to examining the barrier that separated him from the rest of the room. He could not see it very well where he sat, so he steeled himself, and used the wall behind him to help himself to his feet.

He practically fell next to the barrier, with a loud pained grunt. His left leg was not cooperating, either, and the force at which his knee hit the ground set off the rib pain all over again.

Ever so slowly sitting himself next to the swirling barrier, he used his still-intact left arm to support himself, and looked closely at it, getting it within an inch of his nose.

He needed to see what the barrier did. Figuring that he desperately needed to keep one side unharmed, he brought up his useless right hand, and touched the barrier with the tips of its fingers.

It felt instantly as if white-hot electricity were sent from his fingertips, through his entire body. A cry escaped from him that, when he pulled away his hand, surprised even himself as he sat there panting; it was as if someone else had done it. He felt nailed to the floor by pain for a moment all over again, fighting not to breathe too harshly. After a few minutes of recovery, he was able to look at his fingertips. They surprisingly seemed to be completely unharmed considering the reaction the barrier drew.

He prepared himself for the pain of another experiment. He reached up, and this time, tried to push his hands through the barrier. After a few seconds, he managed to do just that, but blocking the pain wrought a terrible cost, and sent him into sickening coughing fits that floored him.

Sitting back up unsteadily, he growled deeply again. That was all he could do for now…the barrier was, for now, impenetrable. Perhaps, he figured, he could seize an opportunity when one came along and escape. The only problem was finding one. He was sure this was not the Netherworld, or a similar alternate dimension; this was indeed the normal physical realm, and it was rather disgustingly comforting to know that half the battle was not having to have to figure out how any particular set of physics would help or hinder him here.

Needing something to support him, he dragged himself back to the wall, not desiring to put any unecessary weight on his leg. He took off his tie, undid a few buttons of his formerly crisp white shirt, and closed his eyes. Bracing himself again, his brow contracted, and he tried to still himself as much as possible to keep the pain in check.

She had been preparing for weeks. She saw an opportunity in the EPIC convention, and seized it. He doubted that Baranov could have had a hand in assissting her; she seemed like the type of woman that would do the work herself to gather the three of them there.

But she did, indeeed, win this particular battle in securing Ragnarock's powers for herself.

There was nothing else he could do, but lean back uncomfortably and wait for a miracle. It sickened him. Miracles were statistically improbable by their very nature.

* * *

Janine walked over to the bed, looking around at the countryish, slate blue-based room that served as one of the guest bedrooms on Dr. Dendron's property. She had been amazed all day at how modest his home was considering all that she saw today, and the expansive amount of land he owned. She saw the greenhouse, topiary garden, and Dendron had even given the opportunity to take her to a local, privately-owned apple orchard he had much of his work invested in. On the grounds near the orchard, there was the most adorable little sweet shop that sold everything from apple pies to the most delectable apple turnovers she'd ever had, and she couldn't help but purchase a recipe book in order to learn their "secret" ingredients.

It was a very interesting day. She wished that Dr. Spengler could accompany her here, however, she remembered, with an inexplicable sudden chill, that he had important business elsewhere. And she still had some guilt to wrangle out of him yet.

She ignored the chill. She'd have one every time he left the firehouse if she didn't, and there was only a short amount of time to wear cute, summery clothes in the temperamental East Coast weather.

Picking up a deep red rose which was on display in a white vase on her vanity, she thought for a moment how she had always preferred roses in pots and gardens rather than simply cut and given, but wouldn't argue about it if she had seen them like she had here, or received one. Which, she thought, is what made Dr. Spengler a million times more adorable to her for giving her a potted plant when he did.

She laughed. Dr. Spengler was probably being wined and dined right now, just like herself, by some deep, eccentric intellectual, in a red and black housecoat, smoking a Cuban cigar in his two-million-dollar mansion.

Biting the stem of the rose, she sat down on the bed and lowered her eyelids. "I brought you here for a most important reason, Dr. Spengler," she said, holding out her hand as if carrying a wine glass, trying to imitate the man she saw in her imagination, "what ees your opinion on…dat strange noise een my Mercedes?" She laughed out loud, taking the rose out and falling back on the bed. He'd probably even come back with a box of cigars tomorrow that he'd have positively no use at all for, she figured, and got ready to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

The Damocles Solution 17.

"I don't like it. I don't like it…_at…__all_!" whispered Peter ominously, narrowing his green eyes to slits. "It's just too weird. It's just…_unnatural_. It's just _wrong_." He shifted in his chair. "This is gonna keep me up at night. I'm gonna see this in my worst dreams."

"Aww, Peter, give 'im a chance!" said Ray encouragingly. Peter had been watching Slimer like a hawk since breakfast began, at it was starting to annoy him. "He's just finally really trying to be a little more…discreet!" He spread his hands out to the green ghost, who was now neatly using a knife and fork for his pancakes, and had a napkin wrapped around him to serve as a bib to catch any food that might fall.

"Personally, I kinda like my food not getting slimed up every hour on the hour for once. Seems like we have more food in the fridge than we ever had!" said Winston, stirring his coffee. "I'm enjoying things this way."

"Ya gotta know something here, Sureshot. Sudden, diametrically-opposed behavior like this isn't usually permanent. It just _can't_ be permanent. All it does is make the presenter go twice as wonky when they're sick and tired of putting on a show." He leaned back. "I'd be much more a happier man if I knew _Spengs' _noggin was switched in there again somehow."

For maybe the first time in his undead life, Slimer was doing a phenomenal job at ignoring Peter.

Ray frowned. "And it's _negative talk_ that's gonna upset him so the behavior comes back, if I'm not mistaken," he said, throwing some sound psychology right back at the dark-haired, certified shrink. Winston chuckled and nodded in agreement.

Peter pointed a finger at Winston, and Ray, each in turn. "Mark my words, you guys. I'm saving up lots of cash because when this little green personality adjustment finds its way back to home base, we won't be eating anything for a month!"

Winston and Ray, finished with breakfast, sighed heavily, got up and headed toward the garage to work on Ecto-1, leaving Peter to continue to stare fixedly on the now pristinely polite green ghost in the opposite chair.

* * *

Egon drifted restlessly in and out of consciousness. When Aracelli slowly walked in again, Morgan behind her, he looked at his watch-it was now around 8AM, and he was feeling so much worse than before. In his groggy state, he unconsciously pushed up a pair of scarlet eyeglasses that weren't there anymore. The ground was chilly, just like the air; it got a bit colder overnight, and it stiffened his muscles and made it twice as difficult to focus when he heard himself addressed.

"Just wanted to make sure I visited you again in case you took my offer," she said, the false sickening sweetness back in her voice.

He couldn't even speak at first. There was only pain on attempting to. He thought resting during the night would help him improve; however, the situation prevented him from getting any useful sleep, and the pointed lack of substance-controlled, perhaps opioid, pain medication was very, very quickly wearing on him.

Not receiving an answer right away, Aracelli seemed to slightly turn her head. "Well? Your lack of an answer means you are considering it? I can heal you completely if you so choose. It doesn't have to be this way, Dr. Spengler."

He made the mistake of taking a deep breath, and only ended up gritting his teeth before he spoke. "And my answer…continues…to remain negative."

She hmphed. "A rather stubborn young man, you are."

"You might consider me…stubborn. I consider myself sensible."

"Sensible? You have knowledge that grants you the ability to level a city in a matter of minutes and you do not with to capitalize on it? You are rather the insensible one."

Egon was getting _bored_ of her. He contracted his brow and forced himself to speak evenly. "Next time I want to rule the world, I will consider murdering my supposed competitors…but not before begging them to help me while…I debate with them how sensible I am," he said as he glared at her, each phrase brimming with quiet rage. His long-practiced verbal filters were getting more and more difficult to keep in check due to his worsening condition.

"Do you seriously think I have eliminated every power out to destroy us?" she countered.

"My colleague would be particularly swift in…diagnosing your acute paranoia."

"Paranoia! I think not. I am not paranoid, Dr. Spengler, _you_ have been blinded. You might not have noticed due to your profession, but there are hundreds..no, _legions_…of powers, human and not-so-human, who pursue us because of what we are able to do. I must say though, I have escaped most attention from them because I have no intentions of exposing myself with meaningless public heroics."

Egon snorted insubordinately at the word "meaningless", but her words sent chills down his spine.

"You might have seen entities chasing you and none of your companions; you might have dreamed more intense nightmares than they; these and more are all manifestations of powers ready to use us, and throw us away when they are finished with us!" She laughed delicately. "So, in essence, due to your publicity, you have been doing quite a wonderful job drawing them to yourself instead."

His eyes went ever so slightly wider in comprehension. This, he thought, did in fact make sense, now that he looked at some on the situations he's been in, particularily those which endangered his life—in many cases, he seemed strangely targetted…and Janine had somehow seemed to pick up on this almost from the first day they laid eyes on each other, while he blazed forward, recklessly ignorant.

He knew he was playing with fire when he began to learn the language in which the spells to Ragnarock were inscribed; he never thought, however, that those so trusted with such information would feel so compelled as to kill the others who posessed it, particularily after knowing the information so long, and living in such silence. Much was to be said in the case against youthful idealism.

She leaned in a bit. "That's why I say we take the first move with these powers. They will chase us until the end of our lives."

"Then obviously I will have much more time to be concerned about this…than you," replied Egon coldly.

He saw her blur turn to Morgan's behind her, and Morgan came around her right side to stand aside her. "Enough of this nonsense. It seems that I must truly throw down the gauntlet in this situation."

"It seems sssssssso," he hissed.

"You will know where to find her?"

Egon's eyes went a spare centimeter wider at the pronoun "her".

"Fourth floor?"

"Yes, you'll have to investigate each room separately. I do not know specifically which one it is. Chances are that she is somewhere near our present company; perhaps it would be best to avoid the staff at all costs, this way you surely be guaranteed…"

The physicist's entire being, dare he use the rather subjective word "soul" at this point, was filled with a white-hot rage as Aracelli babbled on. He knew exactly what they were discussing, to his sheer horror. Aracelli had, indeed, been watching for clues about his and Janine's relationship, as another potential tool to use in her twisted arsenal against whomever she supposed a threat. There was no disguising what he and Janine were to each other anymore…from _anyone_.

He got to his feet effortlessly, and reticently limped toward the barrier.

"Do it under cover of night. And, just do one thing for me, Morgan: do not harm her. I expect her to be treated like a lady, as much as possible considering our current situation. However, if need be, you might…" she trailed off, wondering why Morgan's eyes went as large as saucers in seeming horror. "Morgan? Are you listening?"

"Look…" he pointed toward the barrier-blocked area with a clawed finger

Aracelli gasped when she saw the area was empty…and, to their right, a stone-cold Egon Spengler was gritting his teeth, forwarding himself like a lion locked on its prey, moving one painful step at a time. Using the pillars for support he found along the way with his left hand, he fixed the fire in his ice-cold eyes on Morgan, who had to gaze back at him in amazement.

"Ma'am…he willed himself right through the barrier!"

Aracelli, horrified herself at the display of sheer willpower, took a few steps toward the barrier, out of Egon's range of vision.

The tall blonde growled deeply, so unlike the polished scientist he was at the dinner, thought the demon, now that he was the unfortunate target of such a glacial stare. Morgan was at one point completely unsure if this was the same person that sat at the table with him the day before.

Continuing to step forward, Egon kept his chilly gaze locked on the stocky serpent demon. "_Don't…you…dare…_," he breathed, still pressing forward, one painful inch at a time.

…_.Janine…_

The demon backed away slowly.

Suddenly, there was a bluish light, then a rumble behind Egon. He duly ignored it considering his white-hot rage, created by Aracelli's revealed, even flaunted, plans of kidnapping Janine. He suddenly felt vine-like cords wrap around a foot, pulling him back toward the gate-boundaried area; he dismissed their iron tug and instinctively lowered his center of gravity so they would not knock him off balance.

A pause ensued, and more vines wrapped around his legs. Yet another wrapped itself around his broken right wrist, and this was the first thing that caused him to balk in pain. But he still pressed on, eyes still locked.

Morgan lost his look of terror with the first balk; even more so when a vine wrapped itself around Egon's chest, and cinched it, wresting a cry from him and bringing him to one knee.

As much as he wanted to sqeeze his eyes shut, he glared at Morgan in desperation. "_Don't…you…!_" he rasped.

Still, he tried fighting it, but instead, could only remain rooted in place on one knee. Even more cords wrapped themselves around him, purposely constricting his injured areas all over again.

He started leaning backward from the vines' force of pull, then, with an exasperated scream, was finally pulled back beyond the agonizing wash of the barrier.

He lay there after hitting the floor hard, gasping and coughing, yet desperately trying not to, gritting his teeth and growling in frustration as the cords released.

"You are looking more like a recaptured animal than a physicist, Dr. Spengler," said Aracelli, basking in her victory as she watched his vicious struggle to regain some tattered shreds of composure. "How inelegant. And…we cannot have that again, now can we?"

Where he lay on the ground, panting and straining to recover from the inhuman effort he had just exerted, more cords, now springing from the ground, wrapped themselves around his limbs where they lay, and soon enough , he found himself firmly attached to the floor, facing the dark ceiling, still burning in unspent rage.

He did not see how Aracelli negated the barrier for her to pass through and stand over him, however, he didn't care. He struggled obstinately again the binds that held his limbs fast, though his imprisonment and anger at their plans had loosed his tongue to the point of shouting in rage. "God forbid I consider…using you as a professional model…and in my golden years…resorting to collect so many _bargaining chips…to feed my megalomania_!"

Aracelli hovered over him. "You are in no position to offend me, and I also tire of your indignant mouth!" She brought the end of her cane up to her other hand, as far as he could see, and the silver end came off. The point was down again, and he could see that now, the velvety-black tip continued, and, in place of the silvery end, the cane terminated in two very long, sharp prongs, dripping in greenish liquid.

Egon snapped his eyes down along his right side, drawn there by what sounded like…hissing.

Sure enough, little, iridescent-black snake heads appeared out if his bindings, meaning he was held to the floor by what were actually paranormal serpents. He laid there, struggling in vain, and he could feel their flickering tongues againt the skin of his hands. They seized the corners of his jacket sleeve, and quite easily, tore it up to his elbow. Likewise, they did with his dress shirt, tearing it like it was tissue paper, and pulled both layers upwards, exposing the wrist underneath.

With Egon unable to resist anything else with his injured wrist, the serpents wrapped around it had easily forced his hand to turn up, palmside. He winced hard against it.

Aracelli touched the sharp, pronged ends to his skin, and he desperately tried to block out the intense burn of the green liquid he could already feel trickling over his wrist.

"You are working yourself deep into irrecoverability, especially now that I must keep your mouth shut by using Jormungar's Bite."

"You haven't thought very clearly-making yourself so _indebted _to Jormungar for your powers!" rasped Egon blindly. "You're a fool to think he-will not _demand _of anything of you when you—!"

She drove the prongs deep within his broken wrist, and the ensuing puncture, twist, and burn made him stamp his foot as much as his serpent binds would allow him, and arch his back high, making him see nothing but stars for what might have been the first time in his life.

* * *

"You've got such beautiful grounds here." Janine walked alongside Rhoda in the late afternoon sun, their shadows growing longer and longer. "Is this something you recently built or is it a family project?"

Rhoda smiled warmly. "This vineyard's been in my family for over a hundred-fifty years." She turned toward Janine. "You've heard of Cloistered Dove wine?"

Janine blushed. "No, I'm sure Dr. Spengler's heard of it, even though, as you've seen at the dinner, he'd never touch it with a ten-foot pole." She stopped to admire a bunch of grapes glowing in the light. "I admit, I'm too preoccupied drinkin' whatever the guys bring home, honestly." She leaned toward Rhoda. "I'm positive it tastes better than anything _those guys_ buy!"

Rhoda laughed, then flicked her arm out. Her brown eyes twinkled. "Try some. Go ahead."

Janine flinched at first, but then picked a small group of grapes from the bunch, and started popping them in her mouth. "Mmmm, delicious, thanks."

They continued walking along the path at an easy pace. "You are very interesting. Very genuine. I'm sure he agrees."

Janine inhaled the tiniest of gasps, and it was heard ever so slightly above the crunching of their steps against the ground. She went silent in deep thought, trying to understand that. "Whatcha mean?" she finally asked.

"That young man reminds me a lot of myself." She grinned broadly, and tucked back a lock of white hair that happened to fall out of the neat bun on her head. A warm breeze passed over the field, threatening to undo the lock again. "I saw it. He may not be able to put it in words. I certainly wasn't able to at first, either."

"Well, I hope you got more than just a slinky as a toy from yer parents…that you'd eventually end up messing up as a kid." She finished up the last grape.

Rhoda's eyebrows shot up. "He does have quite a few more hurdles than others to jump over. Much more than I did, for certain." She looked forward again, and they rounded a turn into the next row. "But, I assure you that I do understand…a tiny bit. The wine is called Cloistered Dove because that's what my family thought they'd be. Set apart, left alone, minding their own business. I did always admire their self-reliance and modesty. However, Phil has taken me to places on the globe some relatives will quite frankly, never hear of."

Janine frowned. "Yeah. I gotcha. He loves holing up in his lab."

Rhoda stopped to inspect another bunch of grapes, then broke more off and shared them. "Here, please have more." They continued forward. "Yes. Just like my family holed up on their land. You know, Phil had to propose to me three times before I accepted? He was relentless. That's what I love about him. He's undauntable. A bit flamboyant and a great deal eccentric…but fearless and undauntable!"

The redhead "wowed".

"You're helping him be genuine. Just like you. You're helping him be himself. Yes, he can invent, and he can tinker with electronics and he can study every defunct language on the globe…but…that's not being _himself_. I learned that lesson thirty years ago when I met Phil." Rhoda held up a finger. "Just don't _ever_ try doing it all alone. You can't do it alone." She winked. "That's what girlfriends are for."

Janine had to laugh out loud. "Well, whenever Dr. Spengler ends up doing or saying something outrageously stupid, believe me, the guys're on 'im like flies on last month's trash!"

"Good." Rhoda stopped the two of them and rested a warm hand on Janine's forearm. "You are both very fortunate to live with such wonderful people." She knit her brow elegantly. "Except for this—Dr. Venkman—you've told me about. He sounds like quite a character." A smile returned to her face. "But no matter…from what you've told me about him on way here, he needs everyone he can…so he doesn't lose himself to no one other than himself."

Janine winked. "Thanks. If you don't mind me sayin', yeah, he's absolutely brilliant, but...truth is, that boy is as dense as a lead brick sometimes, too. I need all the encouragement I can get!"


	18. Chapter 18

Note: I still don't own anything that I don't own! That includes the 'Busters and Janine, Dendron, um..._Freakazoid_, _Wild Kingdom_, and anything I could have used to pay off my student loans.

Hope you enjoy.

The Damocles Solution 18

Consciousness hit him like a freight train this time.

He opened his eyes, and sucked air in hard.

_The fire_. Egon had long lost track of time trying to fight the fire that raged in every cell of his body. The poison had raced through his arm, and from there, to everywhere else. It was an excruciatingly slow killing recipe, if it was in fact meant to use to kill at all.

He fought for his composure yet again, his vision swirling in sickening green. The old woman was right; it definitely was potent enough to keep his mind occupied on his misery instead of insulting her when she walked in to check on him. It enraged him.

She could have been in there since the last time he was aware of his surroundings; however, he would have never have known, because most of his time now was spent gritting his teeth, gasping for air, and fighting his bonds, but not out of a desire to escape any longer. It was rather a reflex action from the inner fire that smoldered ruthlessly in his veins, and the heat within there surfaced in turning the cold underground prison into what felt like a roiling, airless sauna. Every ounce of concentration was spent on simply keeping breathing in and out as painless and efficiently as possible

He tried focusing his mind again for a moment to be wary of a method of escape. However, it was all just too much. The assault from the day before and poison made his mind unable to process anything except pain management.

_The fire_. He kept hoping against false hope that Janine would somehow have a reason to stay away from the hotel from now on. He also would even have been immensely satisfied if she flat-out left him there; the best place for her from now on was no where near himself.

"I am going to retrieve your woman very soon, Dr. Spengler," he heard a cool voice say.

Dragged out of his concentration again, he turned his head ever so slightly to his right, and shifted his eyes to their corners. Just past the barrier, there was the blurred image of Morgan, sitting calmly on the well-hardened earthy ground, a scarlet blur in his hands that softly _clack_ed occasionally.

Morgan nimbly fingered Egon's glasses. He seemed entirely pleased at the struggle the physicist had in trying to cover the effects of what his mistress had given him. He positively drank in the dark-circled eyes, the completely spent, pained expression on his face, and his fevered cheeks. He smiled at seeing them. "I am pleased to have met her already. She is quite intriguing. Spirited."

The demon smirked at the stubborn stony silence, broken only by teethy breaths, he received.

He continued on calmly. "I promise nothing will happen to her except a change of locale. She will be only encouraged to have you cooperate. The lady of the house prefers the peacock on display, of course, rather than the homely street pigeon."

The demon was sure this would cut a rise out of him. Instead, he flinched back when he saw out of the corner of the physicist's eyes, a glint of the ominous, damning stare he received when Egon willed himself through the barrier. It was of the purest, calculated fury he'd ever seen…fury that, if he were unbound, _would_ obliterate everythingin its way, in the most efficient way possible. Perhaps not even by his own hand…but it _would_, unalterably, _happen_. The silence, the stopping for a moment even of his harsh breathing, that accompanied it was deafening.

Egon soundlessly turned his eyes back, and closed them.

Morgan arose to his feet, uncomfortable. "Nonetheless," he said, attempting to don a mask of immovability. "The next time I return, you may be able to discuss how your dinner was with her more in depth. I doubt you had a chance to do so yet." He stepped away. "Until next time, Dr. Spengler."

When the demon was gone long enough, Egon pulled with all the rage burning within him at the black coils binding his left hand, his eyes burning again, full of indignation. Two heads arose, and they hissed in agony as he attempted to tear the thin serpents in pieces if he only could. As he winced, straining desperately to free his limb, his arm rose ever so slightly off the floor as the tension in the snakes' bodies increased, and he could feel their grip tightening in answer.

The coils finally proved too strong, or he himself proved too weakened. He fell limp, gritted his teeth harder in utter frustration, and rolled his head back. At least when Janine had been targetted before, he could _do_ something. He could run toward her, he could shield her, he could stop it from happening or continuing. The knowledge that she would be brought here, and he was absolutely powerless to stop it, was an evilly wiley way to attempt to drive him mad.

The serpents now hissed softly, almost laughingly, though they seemed aware of the roiling maelstrom in Egon's head, and watched it surfacing in the searing look in his eyes.

_Street pigeon! STREET PIGEON!_, the voice inside his head roared, above even the swirling flames of paranormal fire in every vein of his body.

* * *

Janine took a sip of her Sauvignon Blanc, which she ordered for herself solely to spite the dark-haired psychologist back at the firehouse. "Aaaaah!" she sighed, savoring the flavor.

Her expression turned to annoyance. "Gawd, no matter where I go, and whatever I do, it turns into a business meeting!" She replaced the glass on the edge of the tub while raising a fist into the air, making iridescent bubbles fly all over the place. "I'm gonna inform Dr. Venkman about how many of these science guys wanna pick _my_ brain about the Ghostbusters!" She forcefully brought down both hands into the luxurious bubble bath, splashing water and sending chunks of a two-foot-high layer of bubbles all over. "And here I thought _I_ was gonna learn somethin' from _them_!" She sighed, and closed her eyes. She sunk back into the hot water for a few more moments, before deciding that she was getting too pruny to stay there. She climbed out, dried off, and threw on a flowing, dark green nightgown, a pair of strong but comfy slippers, and her now-favorite plush hunter green housecoat.

She made it out of the bathroom, and got comfy in her bed. "Well, I can't complain about the great day and a half I had at Dr. Dendron's place. Boy, that Rosie could give Dr. V a run for his money. I'm gonna make sure she comes along if they ever plan on seeing us at the firehouse."

It was annoying to her that she had picked up the phone twice since getting in, in an attempt to get in touch with Dr. Spengler, however, he was continually not in. Now she had to admit that she was a bit worried. She sighed, a creeping feeling returning.

She looked over the apple recipe book she got from the private orchard Dendron had taken her to the day before. Scanning the various delectable-looking desserts, especially the ones _a la mode_, she started when she heard a knock at the door.

Thinking it might finally be Dr. Spengler visiting, she leaped off the bed, and over to the door, strightening her hair vainly a bit before looking through the peephole.

There was Morgan outside the door, in a very formal-looking black business suit.

She opened the door, puzzled as to why he should be here at her door on his own.

"Ma'am…I…I have news about your employer," he said apologetically.

"Oh my gawd….do you? Dr. Spengler's been gone way too long, in my opinion! Do you know anything about where he is?"

"Yes. He had been invited for a visit to my mistress' home. Please, ma'am, allow me to enter and I'll be able to inform you."

"Oh! Please do." She opened the door, and Morgan walked in, his gloved hands behind his back. "Is he alright? Where is he? Is he with you?"

As soon as the door was partly closed, he grinned. His skin turned darker and greenish, and began to assume the appearance of scales. "Yes. And if you don't mind," he said, lunging at her, disabling her and closing a hand around her mouth before she could make a sound, "I'll take you right to him!"

She tried struggling, but he was demonically strong; she seemed light as a feather to him, and soon the scenery was zipping by. He was traveling now as a demon, untiring, at a bizarre, lightning-fast pace. The entire hotel around her seemed reduced to a strange, mind-disorienting series of pictures around her rather than a three-dimensional world.

He took her, possibly as a display of sheer arrogance, right past the front desk of the hotel—she could see it flashing by as she stretched out her hands, and uselessly tried to scream for help. There wasn't even enough time to see if anyone reacted, and soon enough, they were traveling on a long, empty stretch of highway in the black of night.


	19. Chapter 19

Note: If someone has a better answer for the algebra problem in this chapter, let me know and I'll credit you. You don't know how much my head hurt after calculating it. I was in remedial math in third grade, so…there ya go. ^_^

The Damocles Solution 19

Janine was forcibly walked down the long, earthy-walled tunnel by Morgan's demonic grip. "You had so much nerve sitting at the same table with us!" she said, flailing her arms and fighting him uselessly as he dragged her along by a wickedly tenacious arm. Every step of the way, as long as her mouth stayed uncovered , she released curses into the air that would make Dr. Venkman give a thumbs-up.

The hallway widened into a well-sized chamber, and Morgan finally set her on her feet.

She pushed herself away from him as soon as she could. "You're nothin' but a damned liar, I betcha!" she roared, disgusted at the cool smile he wore. She prodded a finger right into his chest. "You have no idea where he is! You brought me through the whole house, and-!"

She was silenced by his outstretched palm, which he nonchalantly used to indicate a position on the ground a distance away. She turned her eyes, then her head.

In a small, almost separate area, there was Egon on his back, on the dark brown ground. Unconscious, his head was turned away. He rather seemed like he was lying haphazardly…as if he fell there.

"Oh no…" she kept repeating, and made a lunge, desperately desiring to throw herself next to him.

Morgan chuckled, and returned his gloved hands behind his back.

Closer to him now that she was on the ground, she held out a hand to stroke his hair, with a sigh of his name—

-and _yelped_ in pain. She drew back sharply, and clutched her fingers, grinding her teeth to help her get over the stinging sensation. Cradling them with the other hand for a few seconds, she was sure that her fingers were burned to a crisp. When she looked at them to verify the damage, she gasped. They seemed completely unharmed, and soon, moved as if nothing had ever happened to them.

Confused, she lowered her brow. "It's not an…electrical fence…" she thought at first, squinting hard, even with her glasses on. Looking down at the floor, she could see swirling colors that faded out to clear the further away from the ground they were. "Nah…a demonic barrier!" she whispered.

She tried to get as close as she could without hitting the barrier in front of him. "Egon? _Egon?_ Please, answer me! _EGON!_"

Receiving no acknowledgement, she snapped her head back up to Morgan. "Put me in there!" she demanded angrily.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "My mistress said you may have the entire home at your dispo-"

"_Put me in there_!" she shouted, with tears threatening to break her iron expression. She gritted her teeth. She was going to be right where they wanted her. She couldn't care less. "_Now!_"

Morgan sighed. "As you wish." He held out a scaled, heavily clawed hand, and grinned. "You'll have to hold it."

Janine's stomach turned, and she slapped her hand into his, nauseated. He yanked her up unceremoniously, then easily stepped through the barrier, seemingly unheeded. Janine, disgusted with having to deal with his serpentine skin again, but knowing it worthwhile to be able to finally touch Egon, gritting her teeth in tow.

She tried to throw herself down next to the unconscious physicist, but Morgan's hand prevented her. "It would be in both of your bessssssssst interests to convince him to assisst us." His grip tightened, and he tugged possessively at her arm.

"It'll be in _my_ best interest to blow you and that crazy lady apart with a thrower at max!" she snarled, snapping her arm back toward her as he broke his grip.

Morgan laughed. "I must go tell my mistress you are here, and just how interesting you are." He stepped through the barrier with frightening ease. "I will return." He disappeared into the dark tunnel on the other side of the chamber.

"_So I can make you into a handbag_!" she yelled into the tunnel. Riveting a hateful look on the tunnel he disappeared into a few more moments as he left, she caught herself, and made her way next to Egon, stumbling along the way in her haste.

"Egon? Egon!" she whispered to him, throwing away all sentiment of her previous unforgiving formality with him, stroking his damp, unruly blond hair.

Egon's eyes, sans eyeglasses, barely cracked open. A staggered, exhausted sigh escaped his parted lips, and he finally managed to look up, his gaze glazed over. _The fire_…the paranormal, poisonous fire in his limbs took all his strength to block. He would not let her see it. He would not let it win.

"You look awful," she almost cried.

He slowly focused on her, his awareness now recovering.

"What'd they do to you?"

"Janine?" he murmured. His face grew darker by the second. "_Janine_!" His eyes shot wide open in horror. Squeezing then shut again, he began struggling against his bindings, regardless of what limbs were damaged, causing him to cry out, half in pain, half in pure rage.

She saw that he was firmly attached to the earthy floor, and also that he was somehow only hurting himself. "Stop! _STOPPIT!_" she cried, putting her hands lightly on his shoulders.

Her touch seemed to calm him somewhat, and he reluctantly laid his shoulders back down. His eyes, however, remained heated and furious. "I…purposely didn't mention you…didn't want this to happen," he growled, struggling again.

"Egon…stop…"

She noticed small snake heads rising from the sleeve on his left arm near her. They looked right at her, and hissed, almost amused. Their forms led her back to the thin, iridescent-black binds which she soon saw, were actually coils that wrapped themselves around his left arm. And in fact, all his limbs. These were what he seemed to be struggling against when agitated.

When she released, he stubbornly bucked again, and she had to go back to holding his shoulders. Pushing them gently back down again, she was now almost in tears. It all eerily reminded her of the time when he was so furious, he was ready to step out of a moving rollercoaster, high in the air, to give some copyright-violating ride owners a stern talking to.

"Egon, stoppit! How long have you been here? _Answer _me! What'd they do? You look awful…" she insisted. The laughing little snakes arose again, cackling ever so softly. They annoyed her; she looked back, and began slapping at them, undaunted by their gentle, sickly playful snapping.

He remained now on the ground, but turned his head away. "I haven't been here…long at all," he lied. "I just…tried to move through that barrier to this cell…and they restrained me." He closed his eyes. "That's all."

"I…I don't know if I believe that." She tried pulling again at the coiled binds pinning him to the floor, and finally declared it useless; they were demonic, and were made of stuff surely stronger than tempered steel. Instead, she bent down to his ear, fearful that somehow, they were being watched…even possibly, she considered, by the serpents that held him to the floor. "They stop you from calling?" she said in his ear in the slightest audible whisper, shaking with concern over him.

"Communicator…disabled," he breathed, still thoroughly annoyed at not only her kidnapping, but also the fact she was worried about his condition, and not her own escape.

"Let's see!" she said, plunging a hand in his damp clothes, feeling around for the communicator.

"Not..not _in_ there!" he hissed, now fighting her out of sudden alarm.

She pulled out her hand, and before she could stroke his hair and get him to calm down, she stopped. Looking at her hand, her eyes went wide…her hand was now covered in blood, some rather dark.

She glared at him. "Don't you 'that's all' me!"

Leaning directly over him. she started desperately unbuttoning his vest, then was starting with his dress shirt as he clumsily attempted to hoist himself up on his elbows.

"Stop…Janine…_stop it_! I'm fine…really. I made…a miscalculation. The barrier…drained me when I stepped through it…"

Janine narrowed her own eyes. He was such a terrible, horrible liar. Thank God. "_Miscalculation?_" She held up her reddened hand. "_This!_ is not just a miscalculation!" she hissed.

His only reply was, as usual, to retreat into stony silence.

She crossed her arms, racking her brain trying to think of a way to get through to him. "Answer me _this_, Dr. Spengler! What's…ah… x, when y = …um….the area of an American football field in kilometers, and x equals y times pi cubed…._oh gawd_…divided by 54 times the square root of 42?"

Janine's temper burned in impatience at Egon's senseless cerebral stubbornness. She wanted to throw something at him. She considered asking someone to calculate a mathematical problem to prove their immediate need of medical assistance beyond stupid and ridiculous. Though, she knew this was Egon that was here, and not, for example, Dr. V. _He_ would have screamed and cursed his way out of here so quickly the walls would melt from that much hot air he'd use. His captors would have no choice but to let him go in an effort to salvage their own peace of mind. But with Egon…everything was a mental battle. Everything had to be proven, everything had to have cause and effect. Hypothesis, procedure, conclusion. _Everything._

The physicist fell back on his shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut. The fire would _not_ win. He swallowed hard. He would calculate the answer and deliver it.

"C'mon, boy genius, give me the answer!" she challenged.

His head rolled back a bit, and his teeth ground together.

"Oh please. This is third grade stuff for you!" She put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

"First grade…actually," he said with a clenched jaw. _The fire._

"So then, whatsamadder? Out with it!"

He paused another rather long minute or two

Janine recrossed her arms, thinking it better to keep them there than use them to choke him…which obviously wouldn't help him much right now. "I'm waiting, Dr. Spengler."

_Stupid!_ _ This is just stupid!_

It felt as if every sinew in his body were made of fire and broken glass. "473," he finally spat out, "as a rough estimate…If I had a slide rule…and time to keep the decimal places consistent… I could carry it out to -."

Again she started undoing his clothes, trying to reach the explanation of where blood on her hand came from.

"W…what are you _doing_? _Janine!_ I gave you the _correct answer_!"

She continued unbuttoning his vest, then tearing into his shirt, which, if she didn't see the collar beforehand, would have guessed was actually red. "I'm sure you gave me the right answer, and believe me, I couldn't even know if you didn't…but it took you _way too long_ to figure it out. That means there's soemthin' wrong and I'm seeing for myself what it is!"

He looked horrified, then narrowed his eyes angrily…then, she swore she saw a flash of relief across his face as he threw his head back down and turned away.

Finished, she parted his clothes, and her eyes welled up, and a hand covered a cheek.

'Oh…Egon…" she breathed, running her eyes over everything the jet black suit had hidden, and he sighed, now seeming thoroughly annoyed again. Drawing her fingers along the discolored area of his right side, he reflexedly tensed, and quietly gasped, wincing hard.

"Janine…you…" he managed to rasp as he shifted a bit. He was losing the battle quickly, and it was beyond maddening. "The barrier…maybe you can escape when she lets herself in or she—"

"You are _not _ok," she said, ignoring and interrupting him. "You are…defintely _not_ ok."

He growled through gritted teeth, furious at himself for not being about to keep her ignorant; however, he knew it was beyond ridiculous to think he could. She was too damned smart…and she…she _cared_ too much. He had to admit, though, that a small part of him was relieved that his layers of formal clothes were now open, and he could feel the cooler underground air wick off the heat rising from his torso. "The first…opportunity..you get to escape…Warn Tennent…."

She gasped, laying her hand on his breastbone. "You _didn't know_? _Tennent is dead_! It was on the news yesterday morning!"

His eyes narrowed to slits in realization. "Then…she killed him too…!"

The serpents took an opportunity to laugh again. Janine briefly removed her hand from Egon's chest to backhand them, which they easily dodged. She replaced her hand in his breastbone, stroking it lightly.

He didn't need to remind himself that Tennent, he, and the insane woman holding him hostage, were the only three in the world that knew the keys to summoning Ragnarock. No doubt the old woman had a lot of power to enable her to do what she accomplished already-eliminate one supposed competitor, and severely incapacitate the second. However, no matter how strong she was, or which god she prayed to, if Peter, Ray, and Winston were alerted to his trouble, of course they'd succeed in bringing her down.

But, in the end…that would leave…only _one_.

One versus legions of powers that would attempt to shatter or even take his life, until the day he died…

Inwardly, he shuddered with terror. This wasn't the same fear that summoned the Boogeyman so easily. Now that that was, for the most part, behind him, he wanted to spit on it; it was so childish in retrospect. This was the terror of the impending need, he decided, for involuntary solitude, of martyred severance of all he held dear.

Janine's whispered, frantic train of thought broke through his terror-filled cogitation. "Oh no! I thought you knew. Didn't you—" She stopped herself short in realization. "No..of course you didn't…you don't watch the news!"

He considered the meaning of her information, which put an eerie light now on the events and conversations at the dinner. "And left too early to hear…anything. She asked him here first…he wanted to train students…She gave her so-called prediction at the dinner….she _knew…s_he's trying to eliminate…all competition for Ragnarock. For herself," he breathed in between gasps for air. "We're…the only two left…we're…" whatever he was going to say, the sheer stress of it made it fade into a fit of desperate gasps for air…air his broken side was not willing to allow him to have so easily.

"You've…you've been here since then, haven't you?" she said, returning her hand to stroke his hair. "Since yesterday morning, right?" She knew he wouldn't answer. And she was right-he didn't, as he simply sideglanced her, then shut his eyes again. But still, it had to be said.

She brought her hand down to his face, and stroked his forehead, which was damp, and much warmer than it should have been. In fact, she could feel the heat radiating from him before even touching him. "My gawd…you're burning up," she whispered, feeling his reddened cheeks, "and ya shouldn't be, it's kinda chilly down here."

He winced, turning up a corner of his lip, exposing teeth for a moment. He considered the impending, cancerous dread worse than the chill of the chamber, which he now no longer felt at all.

"Egon…? Are you there?"

He regained control of himself after momentarily having to have to arch his back, and shake the creeping, growing dread away. Opening his eyes, they reluctantly locked with hers for a moment.

Her brow lowered in seeming confusion, or wonder as she traced an eyebrow with her thumb. "Egon…your eyes…they're sorta…greenish…"

Gazing at her simply latched pain on top of dread, and he shut his eyes, and turned away. It was not only in the vain and nonsensical hope that if there were anything different about them, not seeing them would stop worrying her—it was also to shut out his own dread. The dread-that was no doubt the sharpest edge of the sword. There were the wounds, then the poison…then the _dread_.

She could see a hint of it all etched into every cell of his face, though was unaware of its depths. "I'll…I'll think a' somethin'." She looked around desperately for an idea, then turned to him again. "Egon? C'mon…please stay with me…_please_. We gotta do something here…where's the communicator?"

Now that his thin veneer of cover was blown, he couldn't fight the battle against the combined effort of the debilitating pain and the fiery, suffoating poison any longer, and the darkening dread threatening to take, and take, and take. Everything was now bursting through with the force of a broken dam.

"Egon?…Egon!"

Leaning his head back, he heard her say his name once or twice, then everything vanished for the next few minutes into the roiling vortex of pain that was there all along.

But he was also intensely aware of Janine holding her head to his chest, and stroking his shoulder just as the wash of agony consumed his consciousness.


	20. Chapter 20

The Damocles Solution 20

Janine saw Egon stir back to consciousness, and kissed him lightly on the forehead, saying a silent prayer. "Egon? Egon!" she said, with growing desperation as she stroked his hair. "Egon, answer me! Are you still there?"

He cracked open his exhausted, red-rimmed eyes, and nodded his head slightly. The fire was now in full control. "How…long…was I…?" he asked, somewhat disoriented.

"I don't know, I don't have a watch. I know it was quite a while…" Relieved to see a sliver of his now strangely dull-greenish eyes, she ran her hands over his face, tearing up. "Egon…you're getting worse by the second-"

"—back…there," he whispered, deflecting her, and closed his eyes while he gestured with his head. "Back by the wall."

"W—what?" His tone was rather repelling. She looked confused for a moment, then turned toward the back wall. "The communicator? Oh…:"

She left his side for a moment, and looked on the floor. There were small rocks all over the back area of the prison that she all but threw out of the way. Eventually, she came upon a small black plastic square. She picked it up, and gasped in horror when a chunk of the casing fell into her hand. She went over to him again.

His mouth was now slighly opened, perspiration trailing down his brow. In between labored breaths he managed to say, "Doesn't…work."

She switched the communicator on, and, sure enough, the light remained off. She wiped a tear away with her robe, and started shaking the communicator, turning it off and on and off again with growing frustration.

"I'd need…both hands to fix it…"

Janine glared at the device. "Well, _I_ have two hands to fix it!" She turned the power on, and when she saw it was not active, she gave an exasperated, grunted cry, and started banging the communicator on a large rock in frustration.

He turned his head over to her, and managed to raise an eyebrow as he watched her hit the communicator over and over, tearing up and cursing. God, did she remind him of a female incarnation of Peter, sometimes.

She continued to hammer away with the device.

"Janine…that won't…"

Were he able to say his next thought fast enough, he would have had to eat his words. He managed to widen his eyes when the device beeped, and the green light appeared, and static could be heard.

His lips came together, and pressed for a moment. How could he not have thought of something so…simple?

"Oh, thank God!" She hugged the communicator to herself like it was a child's comforting blanket. Hearing a deep, rattling groan behind her, she scurried back over to him, calling his name.

He looked vacant and dazed for a moment, his eyelids struggling to stay open. "I…keep losing focus", he whispered, tipping his head way back and snarling. "So…warm in here…green…so…" He shook his head gently, fighting the poison anew. "In the case…I cannot regain consciousness, here is…what to tell them," he began. In between loud, labored breaths, he started with telling her which PKE frequency to isolate so the men can quickly find and destroy the powerful Jormungar braziers he had observed in Aracelli's household.

* * *

Dr. Venkman thought he heard a familiar beep. He screwed his mouth up…_naaaah_. In his half-sleep, he musta heard somethin' out in the street.

He stumbled to the kitchen, and popped open the fridge, eager for a midnight-ish snack.

A strange, eerie feeling crept up on him, like the feeling when a fall chill blows through the air to herald the coldness of winter. He went pale, and his eyes shifted to their corners.

He spun around, his eyes flashing as they faced opposite the fridge now.

"A-HA!"

And…nothing happened.

He frowned. _Maybe if I tried it again_.

"A…_HA_!"

There was another pause, leaving him pointing like a hunting dog, at thin air. And, infurated at the nothingness that occurred, balled a fist and shook it into the air. "Slimer! At least you can have the decency to splat into me…when I'm ready for you!" he hissed.

In fact, it had been a nerve-racking experience for the intrepid psychologist to live with such a changed Slimer. Every time he went in the door, he gasped in anticipation of what always happened, but didn't. He never got a face full of congealed, sticky PKE, he was never knocked to the floor, and he certainly didn't have to take a shower to get green goop off him in way too many hours now.

It was driving him batty. He was just waiting. Waiting and watching, now solely for the green ghost to turn his bizarre adjusted personality back to normal, and…just…_hit 'im in the face with it_.

About to go upstairs after a drink of water, he stopped short. He heard the sound again by the uniform closets.

Making his way over, he figured out that indeed, a communicator was, in fact, ringing.

He reached in the closet and flicked it on, puzzled. "Who the _hell _wants my business at this time of night?"

"_Dr. Venkman—_" began Janine.

"Janiiiiiiiine! What are you calling me this late for? And on this thing to boot? You wanna give me the play-by-play with Spengs or something? That's pretty disgusting, in my op-"

"—_Doctor Venkman…please stop….he's __dying_…!"

Peter's entire body went cold. "…Janine?"

"_Dr. Venkman! P-Peter! Help us! He's dying! He's going to die if you and the guys don't do something_!" Sobbing could be heard throught he heavy static. "_He's going to __die_!"

_Not good at all_. She called him by his first name. And said "please". He knew when to cut the crap, and the time was now. He raked his free hand through his hair, and then placed it on his hip. "It'll be alright. Talk to me. Where are you?" he said, pacing back and forth.

"_Held underground…he's dying_…_ya gotta get here_!"

His brow snapped down, and he hurried over to Janine's desk and threw himself in her chair. He grabbed a pen. "How closely are you being watched or guarded?" he asked.

"_I dunno! There's no one in the room, but there's lots of really strong demonic entities in this house…Dolores Aracelli's house_!"

"Ok. Tell me everything you know."

She told him everything…Egon's horrible condition, Aracelli's plan, the secret of the braziers in the house, a quick layout of the house, and anything else she could think of that might help the guys find them quickly.

"_Please hurry! She's going to __kill__ him_!" she said to him in terror as she ran out of things to say.

"Alright, Janine. It'll be OK. We're not all that far away. Have this thing on whenever you can. We'll be right there."

He slammed his fist on the alarm, and it blared loudly throughout the firehouse.

Winston appeared first, ready to rock. "What's goin' on?" Ray was close on his heels.

Peter spoke quickly as he ran toward E-1. "Spengs is way down for the count, he's gonna get counted out of the championship soon if we don't get to 'im. Janine is there with him, and they're stuck underground by a crazy damned old hag and her zoo crew."

"Oh no," Ray gasped, deeply troubled.

Winston started back, appalled. Egon, and especially Janine, were in trouble. And _he_ was the original catalyst of her being there.

Seconds later, Ray, Winston, who was now angered and silenced by guilt, and Peter were ready to dive in the Ecto-1.

Ray, finished suiting up, too, knitted his ruddy brows resolutely. "I'm gonna grab Slimer, then take a PKE meter along in Ecto-2 to help track down the correct house more quickly by air."

Peter nodded and spun around to the shotgun position . "Sounds good, Ray. Let's roll out there. Kick ass, gentlemen, and take no prisoners!"

* * *

Ray, high above the other two guys and Slimer in Ecto-2, clicked on the communicator as he hovered, PKE meter pointing at the huge mansion in the distance. "Hey, guys, got strong readings here…at least one class VII with numerous and layered echoes to boot! I got the target place in sight!" He clicked the PKE meter, adjusting it again to isolate the signals from the Jormungar braziers in the house. "We've got signals from exactly four braziers inside."

Peter was heard on the communicator. "Where we headin' next, Tex?"

He looked over the side of the little craft, down at the ground. "Take the next exit and follow the stretch of empty highway to a large brick-and-white house surrounded by a large garden."

Peter clicked his own device, knowing soon they'd be there due to Winston nailing the gas pedal the whole time. He had to make sure he was talking above the siren, as it blared loudly in the background. "Roger that. Remember we're not even stoppin' to take names here, just blasting and trapping our way to Egon and Janine!" Slimer, floating eagerly between the back seat and the front, was clutching the back of Peter's seat, and watching, looking wide-eyed and intensely worried, where Winston was driving.

"Peter! We do have two important names on our 'hit' list already!—this 'Morgan', and Aracelli. And I think it'd be a good idea to shut off the siren as soon as you get to the highway, guys," suggested Ray. "We wanna do this as carefully as we can so as not to give 'em any motivation to hurt Janine," he had to grit his teeth at the next thought, but had to say it, "or do anything else they _haven't_ done to Egon already!"

Winston leaned over, and signaled to Peter that he wanted to talk. "Right, man, the plan is to clear the house of those statue-things first, then go for the ol' lady and her lackey when they're weakened enough!"

"That also means as soon as we see 'em, we gotta trap 'em, and we can't let 'em run away," added Peter. "We don't need any informants going to the Big Boss to squeal on us crashing their little party."

"Right!" acknowledged Ray.

"Let's go on a good-ol' fashioned snake hunt, guys, just like they do in Texas. Maybe we'll each come back with a nice pair of boots!"


	21. Chapter 21

The Damocles Solution 21

The three men and the spud had landed or parked, and ran or floated their way up to the front door of Dolores Aracelli's residence.

Peter and Winston fired up their packs in the cool night air, and took aim. Slimer, alternating between frowning defiantly and babbling angrily at the demons inside the mansion, tried to stay afloat in the air due to the weight of the extra traps he carried.

Although Peter and Winston were ready to blast the door, Ray called out to them, frantically waving his arms to still their trigger-happy moment. "Wait! Wait guys!" he said, after bending down and closely inspecting the intercom box at the side of the door. He thumbed the white plastic square. "I have an idea to at least make sure they'll have a tough time getting together when they _do_ know we're here."

"What? Tell 'em we're tax collectors? Nobody likes tax collectors. They'll be happy to avoid us then," snarked Peter, pulling back his gun.

Ray flashed a frown. "No. This model intercom is linked to the entire building's phone line. There's probably lots of similar intercom boxes inside the building, so this is how they're gonna team up once we're in there. We gotta sever the phone line first so at least they can't communicate across the entire mansion!"

Peter put a hand on a hip. "Well, that sounds like a deal, because you made it pretty anti-climactic by stopping us from zapping the door in."

Winston nodded. "You can lead the way to the wire, man, and we can blast it." Slimer nodded, and parroted the words "blast it".

Ray sprinted off, the rest of them following as he traced the wiring on the poles. They quietly made it around the side of the mansion undetected, using the shrubbery and small trees around the perimeter of the building for whatever cover could be spared. Stopping behind a low, wide shrub, the occultist pointed up, and the men saw the line coming from the heavily-wired pole, down to a corner of the roof.

Unfortunately, there also seemed to be a demonic guardian, pacing ominously, in the lamp-lighted darkness.

"Maybe she's got 'em all concentrated where Janine and Egon are held," noted Winston. "I'd honestly expect more to be out here than just one."

Peter hummed thoughtfully. "Or there really isn't that many, 'cuz she just wasn't counting on having a bunch of good-lookin' guys with proton accelerators over for a midnight snack."

"Good for us…either way," whispered Ray darkly. "That means we won't be seeing many in the mansion when we get in there, and they'll be easy to hit by the time we knock those braziers out."

Peter fired up, and with one very quick, short blast, the yellow beam cut through the wire with a flash of gold sparks. It fell far down, and trailed along the ground, buzzing and zapping.

Sure enough, the demon heard and saw everything, and turned to follow where the glowing blast originated.

The other two men activated their guns too, and as the demon rushed forward, they fired.

Their beams passed through thin air, and they ground their teeth at the target's sudden disappearance.

"They're really, really…_fast_," said Winston, annoyed. "Can't wait to blast those braziers."

A scream by Peter alerted them to the fact that the demon had reappeared, a scarce foot behind the psychologist. He ducked in just enough time to avoid a swipe by what looked to be four-inch claws. He readied a fist, and by the time he turned and swung, the entity had vanished again.

While Peter was turned, the demon popped in again from behind, ready to claw at him. Ray and Winston let loose another blast, and the demon vanished again, leaving Peter to hit the dirt fast so he didn't get blasted by the thrower streams.

It was Ray's turn to yelp, as the humanoid entity appeared directly in front of him. Ray nerved himself, and took the opportunity to shove the tip of the gun right at the demon's chest, now that it was close enough; they glared at each other, Ray irritated by the demon's cool grin. Before he could fire, the demon batted the tip away, swiped him across the arm, and grabbed him by the jumpsuit, all in a few fluid motions. It hurled him twenty feet away, causing him to grunt and land hard.

Peter yelped his name, and Slimer almost meowed it. Winston already had taken the split-second opportunity to single-shoot when Ray was thrown away, ironically to safety , and scored. The demon bucked and roared, engulfed in the searing white light of Winston's fire. Though it recovered all too quickly, and ran toward them after absorbing the blast, still aglow, Peter looked hopeful…the shot had indeed slowed down the demon enough so at least it couldn't teleport. His own blast joined Winston's, making the demon twice as uncomfortable. Ray added in his own beam after getting up as quickly as possible, and after switching back to stream, Winston topped it off. It was all too much, and the demon was finally immobilized

Slimer threw one of the many traps he carried under the demon, and promptly hid behind Peter to protect himself from the trap. They had to pull for a long, long time before the demon disappeared into the white vortex.

Winston scowled at the smoking trap as he replaced his gun. "You OK, man?" he asked, turning to Ray.

Ray nodded, massaging his left arm, his tan uniform turning dark red in four neat razor-thin slices. "Yeah. I'm alright. It's not that deep at all, but wow, do those things _sting_!" He looked at the full trap, now swung lackadasically by Peter. "We gotta keep these traps straight somehow, guys…I think we should change out the traps on our backs for full ones so Slimer has all the empties."

"Good idea," Winston noted, still looking concerned for Ray. "Man, took the equivalent of six and a half packs to catch that thing…and that's only _one_. There's a mansion there that we don't know how many we're dealin' with."

Ray turned toward him. "The good thing is that seems to be their game…speed and strength. They don't seem to have very many abilities beside that. I think once we destroy those Jormunger braziers, that'll slow them down so much we'll be able to trap 'em with no problems."

"Soooooooo…we gotta knock 'em out out ASAP, pardners," commented Peter, replacing the trap holder on his pack with one of the empties Slimer held . "Now that they don't have their little CB system, let's blast in that front door, and make a run for those things."

Ray smoothly flipped out the PKE meter, and they made their way around the side of the building to the front door, Slimer last. The little ghost was starting to sink lower and lower due to the weight of the traps.

Peter took too much pleasure in finally blasting through the door, and immediately they all set sight on the first brazier. Ray belted the meter to help Peter keep guard, as Winston shot the brazier. It glowed a bright white, and the stone within it shattered before the bronze-colored material melted in a superheated puddle on the floor.

"Let's move it, move it!" ordered Peter.

Ray pointed. "The next one was to the right! I'm sure down this hallway!" They ran down the elegant, white walled, scarlet-floored hallway. Ray smoothly flipped out the meter again. "Total PKE energy reduced by fifteen percent!" he triumphantly pronounced.

Ray guided them to a room on the left side of the hallway, and sure enough, right aside of the beautiful roll-top desk within it, there was another brazier. They ran into the room, and Peter and Ray stood just inside the doorway, guns heated and at the ready, pointing toward the hall.

The brazier was blasted in a matter of seconds, and the stone within shattered. The melted metal bubbled and sizzled like the first brazier, and as Winston shifted his pack back to stream, Ray announced that now, energy in the entire area was reduced by another twenty five percent.

Slimer babbled in fright, pointing toward the door, and Peter's eyes went wide. "Ah…gentlemen?" Peter's gun was the only one that was heated up when three more demons, attracted by the sound of Winston's single shot, poked their heads in the room.

Peter let a curse fly out, and the other two men were readied in an instant.

"Hey! This isn't so bad, Peter! This gives us a good opportunity to study how losing the braziers have affected the demons!" he said, as they lunged inside.

Peter spoke over his shoulder, furious. "We're in the middle of this _viper pit_, and _YOU'RE _happy to do some _research_?" he admonished. "That's it, you're not playing with Spengs any more!", he said, firing at the incoming demons, missing, and dodging a swipe to the gut.

Ray narrowed his eyes. "But look! They can't teleport already!" he said, avoiding a swipe to the cheek, and returning fire.

Slimer, at first paralyzed with fear, steeled himself, threw down he traps he carried, and made little ectoplasmic fists. Babbling angrily, he ran toward one of the demons, splatted himself right across the demon's face, and made the floor slick with slime under another one. Knocking them both off guard for those few precious seconds was all the guys needed to shoot and trap one demon.

When one demon was trapped, Slimer threw himself in the face of the already horribly off-balance demon rising from the ground, and the boys' combined effort trapped the other one.

The last remaining demon looked up, drenched in gross green ectoplasm, frightened in realization that it lost almost half of its powers now, and two of its helpers. It got up, dodging and avoiding proton shots from the three of them. It ran out the doorway, and into the hall, the three men and Slimer hot on its trail.

"Hey! We agreed to NO INFORMANTS on the way! You're breaking our rule!" yelled Peter at the escaping, scaly humanoid, leading the three 'busters and their green ghost to closely follow.

The demon snarled and grinned, and made it to the first intercom device it saw. It slammed on the button with a fist, and hissed into it that there were intruders on the first floor.

It started back. It was not hearing itself on the intercom all through the mansion, and began uselessly hammering away at the white box to get it to work.

It heard footsteps behind it, and peered over its shoulder, terrified. Three glowing proton guns were right in its face.

There was Peter at the front, grinning ear-to-ear. "Hey, bucko, we're the only ones that're gonna be calling the cavalry in this fanfic."

Slimer threw out a third trap, and, after much screaming and struggling, the next demon was taken into one of the temporary spook boxes, too.

The green ghost was going to exchange his trap for Ray's, when the occultist stopped him after massaging his arm again. He signaled for the other two guys to hand their traps over, and presented them to Slimer. "I'm not taking any chances getting these confused, so take these full traps out to Ecto-1 and grab a few more empties, buddy, we'll meetcha on the second floor."

Slimer handed Peter the empties, and took the full traps. He look much relieved carrying only four, and saluted Ray militarily. He squeaked out what sounded like "aye aye Ray!" and flew down the hall, and out the front door.

Ray brought out the meter again as they headed up the staircase. "Number three's signal is getting stronger the closer we get to that floor. That's definitely where it is!"

* * *

They had been discussing their plans with her for at least an hour and a half. However, Janine bit back at every statement she could with an iron will. She knew the rest of the guys were on their way. They're the Ghostbusters…and they _always_ get what they're after.

"No, I'm not becoming your damn princess!" she yelled at the demon. "How stupid do you think I am? I've got everything I've ever wanted in a little drafty firehouse down in TriBeCa! And…" Stroking Egon's chest, she added softly, "and…right here…"

Morgan sat in front of her, making a grand effort at looking rather sad, and a little envious, if not anything else. He continued to dangle the supposed potential rewards of working alongside them in front of her, attempting to make it into a matter similar to that of choosing what sort of edible item she threw in Slimer's mouth to reward him for good behavior.

"I have told you before that we can heal this man completely if you'd only say yes…it's such a simple decision," hissed Morgan, curling a lip back in disgust every time she touched Egon. "It would be like nothing had ever happened to him."

Janine's first reaction was to snap back with a defiant answer, but something made her bite her tongue. She recoiled back for a moment. _No…it's not, you monster! _she thought. It was simple to decide not to work for evil. It was _not_ simple making a decision that would keep Egon in pain.

She looked down at him, and shuddered. She was praying that the guys would get down there any moment She continued to stroke his hair, which by now was soaked in sweat, along with his clothes. His complexion was now desperately ashen, his face flushed, and most frightning was that when she whispered his name, he did not answer. More often than not now, all the intellectual concentration in his face was disappearing; it was more often than not now, replaced only by what could be called a desperation for relief.

The little snakes continued to laugh every time he reflexedly pulled on his restraints.

Janine turned her attention to Aracelli, who had the honor of sitting on a chair, brought down for her by her staff. "What about _you_?" she said loudly to her, pointing. "What about your kids? And your grandkids? That's all you talked about at dinner!"

Aracelli laughed delicately. "My dear, I never said I'd harm any of them! Why, I'm sure they'd love to have their matriarch and grandmother in such a position. They have never expressed much interest in what I study, however I will make sure they will reap the benefits. I am not selfish with my studies." Looking down the bridge of her nose at Egon, she added, "—_unlike_ this one."

"You've murdered two people already!," she yelled, enraged at her insult of Egon. "What benefit is there in that? You're totaling up to be one gigantic embarassment for them!" she shot back.

"Ma'am, can't we do something with her…?" The demon looked clearly annoyed.

"No, Morgan, remember…she's lady."

Janine shot up to her feet. "LADY! I'll show you how much of a lady I am when I stuff a trap where the sun doesn't shine!"

"My, my, my. _Ladies _are not what they used to be," mumbled Aracelli to her assisstant, and he nodded in agreement. She cleared her throat, and straightened. "Present effort results in reapable rewards," she said, with a twinge of annoyance. "I worked all my retired life to be able to learn the language of the Ragnarock glyphs, and years to gain my Master's favor." Running a hand over the serpent-shaped cane, she grinned. "What better reward is there than to know your family will inherit the world?"

Janine _tched_ with her tongue, and crossed her arms. "I can't believe I have ta listen to this."

Aracelli raised an eyebrow, and nervously adjusted her green serpentine cameo, perched perfectly between the upper folds of her white blouse. "Single-mindedness," she mused. "I guess my student and I had a lot more in common than I care to admit," she said with a cool grin. "Like attracts like in the scholarly world."

"You are truly disgusting," growled Janine. "You taught Jeremy what he wanted to know for the sole purpose of using him! And to think that Cindy didn't know what you really were! Not one person who has anything to do with you asked for what you gave them! Your family! Tennent! Even Jeremy!" She paused for a moment, beating down the burning need to tear up, "And…Egon too…," she said softly.

Arecelli sighed. "My dear, as I said before, Jeremy was a single-minded man. He wanted revenge, and though I did not place all the tools in his hands, I placed—_enough_—there, though I hinted many, many times that he would need a wizened advisor. It was his choice to make the wrong decision for his Hearer."

She continued. "As for your young admirer here, _this_ is precisely the sort of situation knowledge of this type will place him in," she said. "Most likely he knew there was some relative danger regarding this information when he first pressed the late Dr. Tennent to educate him on it. Getting hunted down for it just seemed to go unchecked for so long considering the constant drama your workplace of choice presents."

"Knowledge doesn't put you at fault for gettin' followed by a bunch of crazies!" retorted Janine.

"When it is your own decision to do the learning, certainly it does." She turned her head slightly. "You right now are suffering because of this man's own decision to learn, aren't you?"

Janine bared her teeth. "Don't you dare try to pull that on me,'_lady_'! It's always _my_ decision to stick around! There's always a good reason for everything he does and learns! I may not get it at first, his _friends _may not get it at all, and even _he_ may not even know which screw in his head goes where sometimes, but there's always a good reason!" She inhaled proudly. "Unlike _you_."

She looked positively perturbed. "Reasons are rather a moot point! When you decide to play with dangerous information, you take upon yourself the consequences attached to it." She leaned forward. "I did not do just that, my dear. I _embraced the opportunity_."

Janine glared at her…there seemed to be no end to her own justification of her plans.

Egon stirred uncomfortably at her feet again, seemingly on the verge of releasing a scream. Distracted, she got back down on the ground, and returned to stroking his hair. He sighed deeply, calming again when she continued, seemingly unconsciously dependent on her touch now.

Aracelli leaned back in her chair. "I grant you a choice, now. Maybe you will be a little more cautious than the scientist here. You may either encourage him to proceed in assissting me, or you may watch him die before you."

When she phrased it that way, Janine froze, wide-eyed. She was now beginning to understand what Egon was telling her when he mentioned the Damocles story. And she also understood now why she had always felt a particular fear for him when he stepped out the door to bust a ghost with the other guys. She knew someone that, quite truly, was rather unique in the world...and she seemed to know this, before even being told.

And she was attached to him, solely by her own decisions. Though she wouldn't have done anything differently, _ever_, when it came to working for the Ghostbusters.

She realized that, in a way, she didn't even _have_ to learn what Egon knew. By proxy, she'd be responsible for him, and, therefore, everything he had studied in his life. And, in a way, everything he knew, right now, was solely dependent on how she would handle dealing with their captors.

The epiphany of what he was trying to tell her finally hit her. She took responsibility, right now, for not only his life, but his entire vault of very unique knowledge, which many different channels, human and non-human, would voraciously resort to using any means possible to attain. It was a terrifying brief glimpse into his mind, and the weight of responsibility he shouldered daily.

"I've been…such a child…" she whispered, thinking back on her behavior of the past few days, trying to impress him once again by her increased studies. "_Such_ a child…"

Morgan knelt down and smiled wickedly at Janine. "Just think about it, Miss Melnitz…we demons in this household have been humble enough to accept Mrs. Aracelli's protection, though we cannot serve as Hearers…humans must do that. We have been treated with the utmost respect here…and so will you, should you accept. And if you do not urge him to cooperate soon, I believe _he_," he said, pointing at Egon, "will not be living much longer…so when I unlock the altar's position, which will be indeed very, very soon, imagine how empty of a world you'll live in…if you refuse."

She could feel the oppressive heaviness of her own decision…refusing their offer would keep him in tortured suffering until it, potentially, would kill him; saying that she would assisst them would throw away her entire code of justice, and would be, in her mind, the ultimate betrayal of the rest of the Ghostbusters, and, in fact, considering Ragnarock's power, the world. There was also no guarantee that he would be helped in she would give in.

In essence, she felt herself given the power of being forced to choose between death-and death.

She could visualize Damocles' cursed sword hanging above her head.

She closed her eyes, while Egon struggled to spite the fire in his veins.

They were here…were they here _in time_?

Shaking her head slowly, she wiped a tear away with the sleeve of her housecoat. "_No…_" she breathed, running her hand over his cheek, and the tears continued to slide out of her eyes. She finally reached her tolearance of feeling his struggle while keeping her own head. She knew if she did not remove her hands from him, she would have acquiesced to their every wish, solely to relieve his misery, and she leaned away from him, her face falling into her hands.

Placing her hands on the ground, she leaned forward, tired, drained, and inwardly, feeling more and more helpless by the minute.

"I don't care what you say," she said, wiping her eyes. "I'm _not_ helpin' you."

A pause filled the air, and Morgan turned to Aracelli to gauge her reaction.

Aracelli laughed. "Because of his own knowledge, his lover has condemned him to death!" She leaned forward again. "These are sorts of the decisions you will make for the rest of your life if you do not aid us."

Ready to lose all sense of composure, Janine shook her head no again…

…and broke down in tears, trying deperately not to look at Egon.

A weakened, scaly humanoid stumbled into the chamber, and clung to the wall for support. "Ma'am, we will need assisstance! No one could communicate as the phone lines had been cut, and all the staff in the house is now missing!"

"Ma'am, if there is trouble back in the mansion, I will go address it immediately," said Morgan, who had been wearing a rather curious expression the last few moments, as if he was sniffing something in the air.

"Do so. I see the situation has turned to a standstill. I will begin consulting my Master, and therefore get this corrected."

Morgan hurried out, complaining that it was strange that he did not sense something earlier, and hissed angrily in realization when the tired demon told him of the destroyed brazier in the front entrance. Beckoning the weakened humanoid to accompany him, he vanished a step away from where he arose, and the tired demon sighed and followed.

Aracelli rose up from her chair, and, supporting herself with her cane, started chanting words which Janine thought seemed older than anything she'd ever heard before.

Now that they were preoccupied, she looked down at Egon. Not quite sure she had recovered from her decision, she reached toward him, and dared to trace his lips with a thumb, and another choked, answering gasp escaped from between them, a hairsbreadth away from becoming a screaming cry. He reached his head back, gritting his teeth, and slightly arched his back. Finally resting back down again, he laid still…more than he had in hours, though his breath still ground away in the repellantly quiet earthy chamber.

It almost made her lose the fight against the indominable-seeming urge to call them to her and tell them to do whever they wanted.

"I know that's what you would have wanted me to say, Egon," she breathed. She leaned forward, and rested her head on his wet, lacerated torso. She sighed deeply and held onto his arm near her. "I know you wouldn't feel the need to forgive me at all. But…I don't know if I could ever forgive myself."


	22. Chapter 22

The Damocles Solution 22

Another four full traps later, the men ran through the scarlet-carpeted hallway at top speed after destroying brazier number three, which, confirming Ray's theory, didn't even require the addition of Winston's single shot capability. Even though this time the demons had somehow managed to get to them before zapping the old woman's power source, Slimer's "instant banana-peel" method of slowing down the scaly humanoids had proven just as useful as a proton gun.

Ray consulted the meter, after sending Slimer down yet again with the newest four full traps. "Power level reduction is down yet another twenty percent! This is GREAT!" said Ray, grinning darkly while fiddling with the knob on the meter.

"I don't care how great it is! I was almost hit _square in the face_ with a nice heavy Wedgwood plate because Spud here decided to take his time dumping those traps!" Peter complained. He was starting to tend delicately to the top of his head, which certainly now sported a few implanted porcelain chips from that thrown collector's plate that practically exploded right above his head. It would've been right on the mark if Slimer hadn't knocked the demon's arm off course just in time.

"Cut it out, Peter, he's helpin' us clean up pretty good here," said Winston, scolding him as Smiler babbled in his own defense. "Well, now that we got number three, where's the last one?"

"All the way on the other side of the mansion…looks like it's right on the yard…weird," said Ray, confused. "It's definitely right next to the front wall, on this level."

"On an outer balcony, maybe?" suggested Winston.

"Yeah…let's check out the windows on that side when we get there first!"

"Rooooger that, kimosabi!" said Peter.

Winston raised an eyebrow. "'ey Ray…how many other entities ya seein' on that thing?"

Ray stopped running for a moment so he could further adjust the meter's scanning parameters, and the rest of them all halted, too, panting. "Phew! Looks pretty clean for now…at least in the house…except for that brazier signal! There's a couple echoes that are further away, but it's pretty muddled…the only logical way to get to them would be downward."

"Hey, you guys can go and zap number four…I'm gonna see if I can scout out where Egon and Janine are and let ya'll know exactly how to get there by communicator."

They nodded, and Winston found one of the doors to the back of the building.

After parting, Peter took an extra glance at the door the dark man disappeared into. "He's feelin really guilty, Tex. _Really _guilty. I will have to have a little consultation or two with 'im later and fix this."

Ray looked at the doorway, too, and sighed heavily before sending Slimer to go with Winston.

* * *

Winston looked around the darkened area in the back of the house. Janine had told him that Morgan first took a set of stairs down to the basement, accessible on the ground near the outer wall of the front of the mansion, to get down to the underground chamber. He began to run along the outer edge of the wall, scouting carefully for the entryway.

Rounding the corner to the front, a demon was on its hands and knees, calling out to something, as if exhausted and left behind. "Morgan, sir! Use caution…now that the altars…are…"

Almost sliding to a stop, Winston scowled at the demon, and fired up his pack. He raised his gun, while cautiously staying a good distance away.

"Tell me where they are before I blast ya to kingdom come, Snakeyes," he growled as Slimer floated aside him.

The demon looked up, and laughed. "It was a good ten years I spent here, then, because you'll have to find it yourself. So that means what I received from my superior is a going away present! Here—," it said, and threw something at him.

Winston kept his gaze nailed on the scaly entity, and caught the object easily. When he looked at it, he recognized it as Egon's glasses—the lenses and scarlet frames smashed as to render them useless.

Slimer gasped, and managed to say Egon's name in worry, then Janine's.

Enraged, Winston wordlessly threw what was left of the eyeglasses on the ground, and in a flash, he had already hit the button, and single-shotted the demon…and watched it struggle, just for a moment, before switching to stream.

It was so weakened that one shot, and one gun was more than plenty to control it now. "Slimer-toss a box out for me," he growled darkly.

* * *

The meter guided Ray onward, and they stopped to check each alternating set of windows and french doors on the way there. Some had flags outside, others had statues and figures of similar forms, but they weren't seeing the brazier yet.

"Uh-oh, here comes trouble…strong readings, coming right at us! It's fast!" He pointed where they came from, turned the meter off and threw it on his belt. "Shoot! Just shoot, straight ahead!"

Ray and Peter locked on, and Morgan, now in the form of a large serpent, materialized as soon as they fired. The demon easily dodged, and reappeared behind them, and dodged more fire.

"This one isn't as affected by the loss of their power source as the others!" yelled Ray in frustration. "Watch out!"

It took a sweeping swipe at Peter, and the psychologist returned fire. However, the serpent picked up a marble-topped coffee table to guard itself, and the table took the impact of the blast before it disappeared again.

The two men stood back to back, weapons raised, points turning very which way in preparation for its expected immediate reappearance. Nothing happened for a long few moments, and that was even worse than smashing the whole house apart, as far as the psychologist was concerned.

"It's playin' with us, Ray…"

"…Yeah."

* * *

The demon may have been successfully trapped, but Winston was even more uneasy than before…it was taking them too long to get to Egon and Janine, and by now, he was sure Aracelli knew they were all after her.

He flipped out his own PKE meter and scouted around for readings. There was an odd, quickly growing reading which seemed to be below him.

He frowned, and ground his teeth. That last brazier was _still there_, too, along with another strong reading…a demon-one that seemed quite strong—it wasn't quite as affected by the others they were encountering. The guys had obviously run into some trouble in there and were stopped from finishing off the last brazier.

As much as he hated the delay in finding Egon and Jnine, he ran along the front of the building, looking at the balconies high above him, that one reading on the meter growing so quickly in intensity, that he was afraid it would explode any moment.

He followed the meter, getting closer to where it said the last brazier was, and sure enough, before he could get a final lock on it, smoke started curling around the PKE meter. Knowing that this would usually mean second-degree burns in the near future if quick action wasn't taken, he hurled it away, and soon enough, it blew up in a smoky, orange-and-black mess before it even hit the ground.

Terrified at the strong, growing presence he was feeling, Slimer cried loudly, and zipped back toward the Ecto-1.

Annoyed that he didn't have the meter to aid him in finding the brazier, Winston stopped in his tracks, looking up at the monuments and statues on the window balconies, all which, from this far away, could have been the right one. Wondering how he was going to see specifically which one it was, he stopped for a moment, having an idea. He removed the scope from his gun, and, used it to examine each balcony.

…_There!_ he thought. He slapped the scope back on his gun, took aim, and fired.

* * *

They could hear it hissing…

It reappeared, and both of them had to duck. It vanished, and reappeared at the end of the hallway, facing them…panting hard, with both hands on the ground.

While it was recovering, both of them shot at it, blasting a hole in the plush carpeting, only to have it dodge again and disappear.

"Did ya see that? It's gettin' tired," said Peter, and Ray nodded. "Losing those braziers did a number on it after all!"

Peter looked to his side, and all he saw was another heavy coffee table coming right after the both of them. He yelled, and they separated, throwing themselves to the walls on either side of the hallway. The table smashed inbetween them, separating them.

The demon reappeared in the middle of them, turned, and took a swipe at Ray in front of him. Ray ducked, and dodged, backing away from the demon into the center of the hallway. It lunged again for him, this time driving him back into a wall. It swiped, and he dropped to a knee, barely avoiding claws that tore deep trenches through the wall above his head.

Peter shot at it, and the shot landed. The demon glowed brightly in the proton wave that hit it—however, it looked more _uncomfortable _than controlled by the men at this point.

"Two beams are _not_ gonna be enough for this thing!" Ray ground his teeth when he saw the demon fighting off Peter's shot relatively easily. He added in his own beam, and the demon hissed in pain—for just a moment.

Peter, staying behind it toward the tail, grinned broadly. "We got ya surrounded, buddy!"

The humanoid serpent turned slightly, just enough to be able to look at Peter cooly over its shoulder.

"Wanna tell us where the lad and lass are, and we'll make getting into a trap quick and painless fer ya…_maybe_?"

Morgan went to swipe at Ray, and missed by not much. His claws tore into the wall again behind him.

"BAD ANSWER!" yelled Peter.

The demon looked over his shoulder again as Peter's hand moved to throw a trap. By the time Ray yelled to him about the tail, Peter was grabbed around the leg, and pulled hard enough to knock him off balance, and he landed hard on the floor.

Wasting no time, the demon wrapped its tail around Peter's neck, and began squeezing the daylights out of him.

Ray called out to Peter uselessly, and the demon knocked his gun away with a lightning-fast swipe, and grabbed him by the collar, poised to begin clawing into him, while Peter was on the ground, turning reddish-purple.

There was the sound of an explosion outside the window, and Morgan's clawed hand froze in the air, a terrified look in his eyes for a moment…then dropped Ray, released Peter, and landed on the floor hard with both hands, shaking like it had been electrocuted.

Recovering, Ray shot it, and this time, the serpent flinched against the shot, and writhed in the air. Peter got back up, and added in his beam, and once the demon was controlled, Peter threw a trap out and captured it.

Exhausted, they returned their guns to their pack. Peter bent over, supporting himself with his hands on his legs, and Ray sank to the ground.

"This…really makes me wanna…add snakes to the few of my un-favorite things!" commented Peter inbetween puffs.

Ray's communicator beeped.

"_Hey, homies!_" said Winston. "_I got the fourth brazier out here, I'm headin' for the basement…the door is under the fourth window over from the front left corner!_"

Panting hard, Ray could barely answer. "O…okay, we're…right behind!"

"_Just to let you know, guys, don't use your PKE meters! I had some fireworks out here even though I had it on a low setting!_"

Ray went pale. "Gotcha. Be right there," he said, clicking a button. "She knows we're here. His meter exploded and that means she's…she's summoned Jormunger, and I betcha she's begun to channel its power!"

Peter recovered enough to look over at him. "Ray? Is this trouble?"

"Those braziers must have been there just for her staff!" he said, more to himself than anyone else. "Peter, this is more than just trouble…this is a god-sized pile of trouble!"


	23. Chapter 23

The Damocles Solution 23

The snakes laughed as they watched Janine quietly shed tears on Egon's chest.

They laughed, as now he was too terribly weak to even struggle against the binding coils. They snapped at her hair and clothes, well out of reach, but whether she was near or not was not the point. They laughed and snapped, because soon, in the blue light that started to fill the room, Jormunger would be summoned, and devour everything, and it would be nothing but amusement to them.

They cackled and hissed at their leisure now, Janine being, at first, too drained to even bother to try and strike them.

She picked up her head, and sure enough, there was one right in front of her, as it had disengaged itself from one of Egon's limbs.

Fanning out its hood, and curling around itself, it hissed in her face, and when she reached out to grab it, it easily dodged.

It was making its way up Egon's arm, and she saw it was ready to wrap itself around his neck, solely to send her into sheer panic.

About to curl itself around, it hissed loudly again—

-until it, along with the rest of them, stopped stone-silent where they arose from Egon's bindings.

And before she could even begin to try and strangle it first...

...the snakes around him all dropped over, dead.

Blinded by her rage at the little snakes, and glad to see their demise, Janine began pulling at them to rid herself of the sight of them, and in a flash, all of them were piled a short distance away in an onyx-colored tangle.

Now rid of the serpents, she looked up…and soon enough, the words Aracelli were speaking were solidifying into a gigantic, serpent-shaped form that filled practically the whole room. Its cobalt blue coils led up to a firey-maned head, and from its fangs, acidic green liquid dripped that, when falling to the earthy floor, dissolved it into boiling acid.

The form silently turned its head toward Aracelli, its coils bending and turning, as if this is how it displayed cogitation.

_**Someone dares call for me. And calls for me, without proper presentation of ceremony.**_

Janine gaped at the strange sensation that she had. It was, in fact, not speaking. Instead, it was projecting its _thoughts_ into her head.

It slowly opened its eyelids, then narrowed its soulless black eyes. Turning its head ever so slightly from side to side, it flicked its tongue. _**My venom is in here. I can sense it.**_

"I have summoned you," said Aracelli boldly. "I have done so to ask your—"

Not even deigning to look at her, Jormunger addressed her impatiently. _**You have done nothing but interrupt my slumber so far. Continue your channeling or I may lose my patience.**_

Aracelli flinched at the sharp answer she received. For the first time, she looked terrified, and resumed what she had started. More coils appeared as she spoke, partially blocking her from view.

The giant serpent's fire-crowned head glided over to the barrier. It passed through not only effortlessly, but also caused the barrier to disintegrate with a loud, almost electric _snap_ on contact with it. The barrier was in no way able to stand up to the force of a god.

It opened its maw, and hungrily licked its lips. It undid a few of its coils as it moved toward Egon and Janine, and stopped, hovering a few feet over both of them.

_**This one**_, it thought, its darker-than-black, reflectionless eyes riveted on Egon, unconscious yet again.

_**This one has my venom coursing through its veins**_._**I can smell it**__. _

It hovered its nose over him for a moment, completely ignoring Janine's existence.

_**Interesting. This one knows much. Very much.**_

It hissed so quietly, it could have almost been considered a serpentine purr.

Janine looked up at the gigantic serpent, terrified at the power of its _thoughts_. "Egon…! Please…wake up…please move! Something!" she said, tugging at his jacket sleeve, her wide eyes not moving away from the firey-headed god's mesmerizingly evil eyes.

_**Yes, very much. I can smell it**__._

Its tail curled under Egon's chin, and ever so gently pulled, shifting him so it could sniff at his right side. Pulling back his jacket and shirt, it almost smiled when it saw all that had happened to him. It pushed a little more, and eventually uncovered his right shoulder.

_**My mark is heavily upon you, I see, **_it thought, seeing black, twisting vein patterns in his shoulder muscles, spiraling upward and downward.

It reared up its tongue, and drew it acoss his torso…stopping just long enough to press in to his discolored right side. He in no way could contain his reaction…he was coming back in the most hellish way possible to full consciousness.

_**Mmmm. Humans are so terribly amusing when they must be dealt with.**_

Seeing him struggle, Jormunger gently unfolded a few of its smallest coils, and used them to move him, and once again press him to the ground. The size of the serpent made it effortless to do so. It only _looked _like it was softly done.

Horrified at his cries, and now surrounded by cobalt coils, Janine started tearing desperately into the god's face with the only thing she had-her fingernails, crying out his name, and crying for it to stop it all.

_**Your blood and your pain, human**__,_ it thought. Its attention was still directed toward the physicist, as it barely registered Janine clawing at it._. __**Delicious. Exquisitely delicious. Perhaps this rebirth will be beneficial after all.**_

Its tongue trailed slowly upwards, and rested for a moment on his shoulder. Now halfway to consciousness, Egon turned his head to the right, trying to get a glimpse of Aracelli, and struggling uselessly against cursed coils yet again. It watched him while doing so, intensely amused, acting more like a cat that had caught a mouse than a leviathan deity.

Jormunger, offended at the loss of its captive's attention for the moment, withdrew its tongue slowly, and used its narrow tail to push gently upwards under his chin. He winced against the touch, disgusted, and defiantly glared at the serpent out of the corners of his narrowed greenish eyes. In response, the huge serpent forcibly snapped his head left again.

_**Were you not so interesting, I would have crushed your throat as soon as I took in your scent, human**_.

Janine desperately tried to pull its tail away from him. Even the narrowest part of it was too strong for her to move it an inch.

_**You are still alive, **_it projected to all of them, its attention still turned, however, only to Egon, and the physicist ground his teeth as the serpent god's tail pinned his head to the cool ground. _**You are strong. Very strong. Your origins are very strong, indeed. I dislike sacrifices who fall into slumber too quickly.**_

Seeing that scratching and clawing at the cobalt skin with her nails, and trying to disengage its tail from him was not even garnering any attention, she pounded away at its coils, cursing and crying. It was also useless, as its scales were seemingly made of glass-impenetrable, slick, crystalline.

Utterly frustrated, she fell to the ground, and not even after a moment, threw herself over Egon's body.

She landed across his chest, and her housecoat spread over him like a protective blanket. She hid her face in an arm, which covered his shoulder.

Jormunger hovered over her, seemingly surprised, and pulled back its tail.

"You're not doing anything else to him," she told the god, turning and looking up at it. Slowly placing her head back down, she faced his, watching him recover.

_**This one is rather bold**_, it thought, as if she suddenly appeared out of nowhere, though it only simply bothered to acknowledge her presence for the first time._** This one is very strong, too. Future-a strong future. I cannot comprehend the reason why, and I care not to. Perhaps I shall take them together… perhaps not.**_

At first, Egon was too far blinded by pain to say anything…however, he managed to gather his wits again in the short lapses of Jormunger's attention, and his eyes widened to their limits. All he saw was Janine huddled across him, and the huge serpent god above her.

"Get…away…" he angrily rasped, now aware but still struggling in a sea of heat and pain.

He struggled when he saw she was not moving. "Janine! Get AWAY! NOW"

"No! I've handled a few gods in my 'busting career…I'll handle this one too!"

Practically screaming out of pure frustration, his voice only went hoarse and ratty from fatigue. "NO!…Had a…particle accelerator! All four of us…were THERE! _GET OUT OF THE WAY_!"

"No," she insisted quietly. "I'm doing this…because I love you, Egon."

_**I have decided. Though humans are rather amusing playthings**_, it thought powerfully and calmly, interrupting their heated argument, _**I also dislike**_ _**distractions**_.

The serpent wrapped its coils around Janine's arms, and, as easily as one would pick a flower, pulled her just far enough away from him. She cried out his name, devistated at the separation, and the simultaneously exasperating closeness of it. When the coil carrying her stopped moving, she was taken aback by Egon's furious, condescending glare, and quite visible snarl, directed right at her. "Egon…?"

"_A child's game!_" he rasped, chastising her furiously as he struggled. "_Stop treating this…like a __child's game__!_"

With Janine finally removed from him, and therefore the center fo the serpen'ts attention, he turned away from her, and was not able to see her fleeting pained look due to his severely myopic vision. He tipped his head far back, and tried to steel himself for whatever the god would do, or continue to do. _At_ _least….it's me and not her…_he thought, actually relieved that the leviathan god had pulled her away from him.

_She must have another means of power,_ he thought in the precious few seconds his thoughts weren't absorbed in either dealing with either the serpent god, or with Janine. _The serpents are dead…the men must have gotten all the braziers…there must be…something else…_

Jormunger dove in again, stopping to purposefully press in that agonizing place between his waist and his right shoulder. Not even hearing Janine's continued cries of his name, struggling and crying out blindly against it was all he could do not to pass out.

_**Exquisite. And this will also make certain the deaths of my children will not be in vain**_, it thought, stopping with him long enough to attempt to glance sadly at the now dead serpents, piled now a distance away from him.

_**Such a shame that I will have his life soon enough…he is strong…it will not be just yet. But it will be.**_

* * *

The men raced down the narrow earthy hallway, and stopped dead in their tracks in horror as they entered the chamber. "My…God," said Winston upon seeing the gigantic snake-god, folding and circling and coiling around itself.

"Janine!" yelled Peter, noticing right away her fiery red hair set against the dark cobalt coils.

Janine pointed to the sorceress, her face lined with tears. "She's calling it down here! Do something! She's _killing_ him!"

"Where is he?" asked Peter. "I can hear him…I can't see him around these coils—"

"Over there." Winston pointed to a place very close to Janine. He went many shades paler after using his scope to see Egon.

"Can you see him? How is he?"

In the sight of the scope, there he was, held down to the earthy floor by the gigantic serpent, his chin held up against his will by its coils, an unwilling plaything in its grasp. "He's…everything Janine said he was…" Infuriated, he slapped the scope on the gun, raised it and pointed it at the serpent god's head. "Let's get some boots outta this—"

"—No, Winston!" Ray cried, knocking away the tip of his gun. "That's Jormunger! There's no way you can shoot that! It's a god! Don't even try!"

"If you'd seen what I saw through this scope, you'd shoot, too!"

"We have to shoot at that woman channeling it!" He pointed to a form in the center of the chamber. It seemed that the elderly woman, whom the men knew had to be Aracelli. She was allowing herself slowly to become possessed by the powers she channeled with ancient words, and becoming more serpentine with every word she spoke, like the very demons she used in her employ.

Winston redirected his aim toward the woman. "Disgusting…what she's doin'…"

Ray adjusted his gun, and yelled into the chamber. "Max settings! FIRE!"

Two beams and an untraceably fast plasma shot hurtled toward Aracelli.

A whiteish-red light appeared around the now demonic form of Aracelli…and all three energy blasts vanished in a loud and crackling display of light into the supernatural shield she had just created for herself.

Ray ground his teeth in frustration. "It's not working! Why! Why isn't it working?"

"Pour it on, guys! We can last a lot longer than she can! We've got technology and she's only got this sorry light show she's making herself!"

Winston, throwing caution to the wind, continued firing away on single shot as soon as the pack was ready to do so.

Stopped now from her spellcasting in order to focus on creating her shield, Aracelli raised her eyes to the serpent, and held up a hand toward the men, still surrounded by the blinding bright dome of light. "Master! Please aid me in gaining victory!"

Jormunger turned from its plaything to glare at her with its terrifying, reflectionless black eyes. _**I cannot in this form do anything I do not do now, and will not do any such thing were I not. **_

"Master!" she insisted, "I have served you for all these years! Please, I beg you, aid me and I will be able to channel you fully!"

_**You are the one to channel my powers. I suggest that if you cannot handle these on your own, you would shatter to pieces should you finish what you started!**_

Mercifully released from the god's painful attention again in the few moments that it and the sorceress argued, Egon managed to force himself to see past the cobalt blue coils, which had finally moved out of his way.

He could see the blurred silver and darkest black of her cane in her hands, and on top, a glow…the glow of the red jewel in it. It radiated a whitish-red, and the barrier she created seemed to be coming from it.

_That's…it….that's…that's…_

Jormunger shifted, adjusted its coils holding him down, cutting off his thoughts and drowning him in pain again. The serpent pressed heavily, and now seemingly rather purposefully, against his broken limbs.

_**Now that I've had my taste, I know **__**everywhere**__** you are not whole**_, it thought, nosing his right side heavily. _**And I always will know.**_

He had now compeltely lost his voice. Try as he might, he couldn't utter anything louder than ragged, hoarse cries, which were lost in the noise of the proton beams and the electrical sounding shocks of the streams hitting Aracelli's humming barrier.

"C…..ca…." he began rasping, squeezing his eyes shut against the continued presses of the serpent's coils and tongue.

"Ca-! Ca…ne! Ca…ne!"

Janine, who was the only one close enough to hear him, looked at Aracelli defending her position, taking in how nauseatingly serpentine she now appeared, understood. "The CANE!" she yelled, pointing toward the long silver-and-black instrument in Aracelli's hand. Her voice projected easily over every other sound in the room. "He says to shoot the CANE!"

Aracelli shot a glare over at Janine, and implored the serpent god again to assist her.

_**You are mistaken when you think I am particular in who initiates my rebirth. If you do not succeed in summoning me, eventually there will be one that will. **_

Aracelli, now completely in half-human, half-serpent form, screamed in frustration, and dropped her barrier. Nimbly moving out of the way due to her newly granted powers, she dodged the beams of the proton guns easily, and when they hit the earthy chamber wall, the force blasted through and created a wide, long hole where the night sky could be seen. She passed the cane to her tail, and wrapped the top of it in a wall of coils.

In desperation, Aracelli raised her arm, and a large, javelin-like object appeared in her hand. The men recognized it as similar in shape to the braziers they had to destroy.

Pete's eyes went wide in horror. "Shoot that thing outta the air! She's aiming for Janine!"

Aracelli released the javelin, and it hurtled through the air, lightning fast.

It stopped dead and floated in the air right above Egon's head, snapping with electricity.

Egon looked up, helpless and wide-eyed, and saw it hovering an inch away from the pit of Janine's neck, held by the three men's proton beams. Too weakened to move, he could only scowl decisively, and beat the dread he felt along down to non-existence.

The men pulled at the javelin with their beams, trying to get it to move the few spare inches away from their secretary it needed to pass by her, and while they were preoccupied, Aracelli hissed, and made her way out and up the hole in the wall created by the proton beams.

"Dammit! I _HATE_ when they're smart enough to start running from us!" cursed Peter, enraged that the woman was using an opportunity to escape.

_**I will come back for you should the spell be successful…or not,**_ thought the serpent god, still addressing only Egon. _**I am bound to my channeler**_. It slowly released him and Janine, retracting its coils. _**The next time we meet, I wil not be…and I will come for you then.**_

Egon didn't even acknowledge the thought this time.

_Janine…_

_**You are insolent. You repeatedly shut out my presence now, human, **_ thought the god, narrowing its eyes, perturbed at its pet's distraction. _**Next time, you will not.**_

When Janine was released, she flew down over him, and out of harm's way, and the men cut the power to the guns. The javelin hurtled past the two of them, and hit the wall, burying itself deep inside it with a low, earthy sound, There it remained impaled, surrounded by bluish, lightning-like energy.

Jormunger coiled away from them, and slowly turning headfirst into a floating ribbon of glowing, firey-colored water, followed Aracelli out of the chamber.

The men, having no time to stop and check on Egon and Janine, had to settle for the fact that at least they were now free from the attention of their captor.

They ran toward the hole at the top of the now destroyed wall, Peter cursing a verbal volley of nuclear fire and brimstone, Ray with a PKE meter in hand, and Winston turning back briefly to Egon and Janine with a terribly guilty look in his eyes.

* * *

With Jormunger gone out of the chamber, all Egon could do was throw his head back, close his eyes, and breathe…almost in tears. Every square inch of him burned, seared, and shook.

Janine whispered his name over and over, holding his pallid, burning face in her hands. "It's OK if you can't move….they're here…I'm…so glad they're here…they'll fix it…they always do." She kissed him on the forehead, and spoke softly into it. "It's over, Egon. it's over, it's gonna be OK now. We'll get you somewhere soon."

The guys were on it; they'd get the sorcererss. They always get what, or who, they're after.

She picked herself up from his forehead, and, ever so slowly, he found the strength to open his eyes.

Completely against his will, they locked with hers.

She gazed at him quizzically. He looked not only like he was a breath away from passing out, but he also looked like he knew what she was going to do. But these were not were so odd about what she saw.

"Ja…nine…"

It seemed there were so many things vying for control over him that it was difficult to keep up with the expressions in his eyes. She saw such a bizarre mixture of terror, anticipation, anger, desire, and intense pain-and to see him so—_unfiltered-_made her consider him even more fascinating than he usually was…

…_J…please…don't…_

…and desire to kiss him that much more. "I kept telling myself that you'll be fine, Egon…"

…_do this to me…_

…and now I know, you will."

Locked together…

…_because I have to…_

…she felt him bring up a shaking hand to her head, and just for a moment, press it toward him, and respond…helplessly, _hungrily_.

After a long few moments, his hand dropped to her shoulders.

He started growling deeply, fighting her kiss, to her sudden surprise. "Janine…_Janine!_" he said with sudden force inbetween heavily pained breaths.

"W…what?" she answered as he suddenly shifted her head to rest on his shoulder. She was now unable to pick her head up to look at him. His grip was rather strong…for now, but probably not for very long. He was fading fast now that he was confident that the other three men had the situation under control.

"Janine…"

She listened to his low voice with rapt attention, feeling his chest rise and fall, staggering with each pained breath.

"You must give your resignation as…soon as possible."

Everything stopped. Her eyes shot open, and her whole body went stiff.

"Egon? …no…no-Egon!"

She shook her head, unbelieveing of the cold-blooded words she just head him say. She attempted to get up from him, but his strong arm kept a tight lock on her shoulders, preventing her from doing so. "W—what?"

"_Don't…look at me__!_" he rasped desperately, holding her shoulders down.

…_please…don't look…_

After a few more breaths through his teeth, he continued. "Give it to them as…soon as possible. You will _not_ be returning to…to the firehouse!"

She lay there, stiff as a statue, still reeling in shock. The whole room seemed to turn wintery and claustrophobic. The chilly air in the chamber became more than a few degrees unforgiving. She did not hear him say those terrifying words. Not after so many years and struggling so hard only to finally break through his phenomenally thick emotional armor so recently.

"Most importantly…_you will __never__ see me again_!" he whispered angrily. "Not at the firehouse, not at the hospital…_not anywhere_!"

"But…why did you just…you just kiss—"

"_-I __will not__…acknowledge your… acquaintance should we see each other again! I __unequivocally__… refuse to discuss… this issue, or anything else with you! You are…relieved of your duties! Do you understand!"_

There…

There they were…

Again she struggled, whimpering, trying to make sense of his now frigidly militaristic tone.

"_Janine! Your…resignation! As soon… as possible! __No discussion__!_"

There were the were words that for years, she was always terrified of hearing. When he'd had enough.

She reminded herself how much of a child she had been. She had said it, and he also had said it…how she continually played catch with someone who didn't want to be caught, and how much trouble she had gotten everyone doing it in the past. First, the genie, then, with Lotsabucks…and now, before and during the whole trip, she was doing the same damned thing…trying to impress him, trying to be more than she was, and trying to make herself into something she wasn't—all over again. She thought knowledge was different; it was lauded in the world Egon was familiar with. It was not "superficial"…like wanting to be a few inches taller or wanting to untrain your annoying, brash accent. It was understandable…right? It was good…right?

But, she turned it into yet another weapon to use in her relationship. This was definitely a weapon she couldn't use with keeping in mind that there would be someone always paying the piper in the long run.

Now that she had the opportinuty to wield that much power in one single sickening decision, she knew he was right all along. It's time all that ended.

So recently. She broke through it all so recently.

This was so different from the boyish, clumsy attitude she was used to seeing on him. His initial reactions were not so much rejection as trying to understand what it was like to feel…which he obviously was never permitted much in his past to do. Yes, he might have found her strange and annoying at first, but if he truly ever weren't really interested, he would have said so.

Like he did, with so much finality, just now.

And when the serpent god had taken her off his body, _this_ is what that utterly reproachful look he gave her meant.

She nodded into his shoulder, and, while he still kept her there, broke down into the most bitter tears she'd ever cried.

"Goodbye…Miss Melnitz," he breathed, inhumanly clinical, starkly and nakedly dispassionate. His iron grip on her loosened as she could tell he couldn't push himself any farther, and finally was permitting himself to black out. "I hope the compensation…from your next position…is more worthy of you than this one…ever was…"

His grasp ever so slowly melted away, and soon, she was able to move again.

Still sobbing uncontrollably at his words, she picked herself up, and carefully replaced his left hand across his body.

Finally looking into his unconscious, angular, horribly pained, but still beautiful face, she stopped herself from what she so desperately want to do…which was to run her fingers through his thick, flaxen-gold hair, stroke his cheek, and kiss his delerium-inducing full lips again, while she waited for Peter, Winston and Ray to finish up with the sorceress.

Instead, she sat back, and held out her hands, staring at them in desperation, not knowing what else to do with them, now that he had sent her permanently away.

She brought her hands to her face, pushed up her glasses in order to cover her eyes, and continued to cry.

_A child's game._

_You've been a child compared to him since you stepped into the firehouse._

_A silly child._

_Time to grow up, Melnitz. _

_Time to not be a child anymore._

"Goodbye, Dr. Spengler," she said softly into her hands inbetween puffs of air. "It was…such a pleasure…workin' for you..."


	24. Chapter 24

The Damocles Solution 24

The three men ran out of the hole leading up to ground level.

"Hey, Sureshot! You stay behind her no matter how she faces and get a good zap into that crazy cane thing. We'll do the job of distracting her until she lets her guard down!"

"Right!"

"Where is she?" yelled Peter to Ray, both of them huffing heavily from the run.

"A short distance aways…closer to the back of the mansion!"

Making their way to where Aracelli had slithered off, Ray had turned off and belted the PKE meter, as he was aware that at any moment it could explode should Jormunger crystallize its presence again once Aracelli stopped travelling.

"There!" yelled Ray, pointing to Aracelli. He and Peter fell to the right, at her front, and Winston crouched behind shrubbery, readying his single shot. At all times now, he was keeping his weapon cocked and ready for the smallest opening available to destroy the cane that Aracelli had wrapped protectively in her tail.

They found the serpentine elderly woman once again chanting ancient words, looking stronger and even more demonic than her servants and assisstant now, with bands of watery energy swirling around her. The humidity hung heavily in the air simply from the atmosphere her present form drew to her, and her long tail trailed behind her, sirring up the misty air. A blue, swirling globe forming in her outstretched, heavily clawed hands, and Jormunger's firey-water form circled in the air above her, sounding like the rushing waves of a waterfall.

"Hey! Eat THIS!" yelled Peter to her, blasting away while he ran. Ray, aside him also fired up and send a beam hurtling toward her.

In a second's time away from the beams hitting her, Aracelli threw up her shield again, and the beams crackled loudly before dissipating into a shower of sparks.

"Your interference annoyssssss me!" she hissed.

Her shield disappeared, and she raised her clawed hands. Soon enough, the globe she was holding became a translucent blue serpent-themed bow appeared in one hand, and she was drawing a serpentine-shaped arrow in the other. Tensing the bowstring a little more, she let its weapon fly in the air, heading straight for Peter.

He dodged to the side, and the arrow flew an inch away from his cheek. While it flew by, he felt a light spray on his face, and, terrified that he might have been shot, fell to the ground. He patted his face desperately, and looked at the results on his hand

He sighed deeply seeing there was no red liquid on his hand, then did a doubletake. "Sheesh..it's only water. What could be so bad abou—"

He was cut off by a crushing sound in the distance, and he spun around where he sat. Sure enough, one of the larger decorative trees around the garden had been cleanly cut in half.

Peter's eyes went wide, and he got up, ready to dodge another watery arrow. "Ok! Ok! I get it! Today's science lesson is: water at high pressure is deadly too!"

She shifted her free hand, nocked another weapon. At the last moment, turned and shot it toward Ray. As he was just behind another decorative tree, he fired at the tree at his side, and it fell over, absorbing the shot from the watery missle, but also getting cut in half in the process, and showering him in a rain of splinters and broken limbs.

Peter fired up, and hurled a proton beam at the serpent lady. It hit, but was so quickly absorbed, she didn't even flinch. Receiving a new awareness of the power the increased channeling brought her, she looked stunned for a moment, then leaned back…and laughed.

"Seems I do not need my silly little shield anymore!" she said, slowly approaching the two of them. "I have my Master tot hank for this!"

The bow in her hands shimmered, and reformed into a great, translucent, intricately carved blue trident, a serpentine charm hanging from the chain at its handle end.

"I tire greatly of your interference. I shall settle this now, and be on my to ascend the throne I so deserve!"

"Peter!" yelled Ray, running behind the toppled tree over to where the psychologist stood.

"Ray, this is trouble. This is BIG trouble."

Aracelli drew back the trident, and swung it mightily around again toward where Ray ran. He had to flatten himself on the ground, as the scythe-like sheet of water passed over him, and struck hard into the side of the mansion behind him, causing the stone on it to smoke, as if struck with dynamite.

Getting back up to his feet in an instant, he finished the run over to Peter.

Peter ground his teeth in frustration. "What are we gonna do? Our beams are useless against that thing, no thanks to that stupid flying snakeskin belt in the sky!"

He made a move forward, and Ray's eyes went wide in horror. He flung himself at Peter before he could take another step, and tackled him.

"What did ya do THAT for?" yelled the psychologist as they recovered, hurriedly untangling themselves.

"I wanted you to watch your step!" Ray pointed down to the ground. There, still zapping and sparking, was the phone line they had previously cut, and Peter flinched back hard when he thought of what could have happened had he stepped on the live end of it.

"I have an idea!" said Ray. "We have to back it up a little, and get her over this!" he said, pointing at the wire. "She's channeling a water god, and using water-based attacks! Water won't do anything but help to conduct an immense amount of electricity right into 'er when she least expects it!"

"Sounds good! How do we get her to come here toward it?"

"Well, we…RUN!"

And with that, they turned tail, and raced along the road in the back part of the mansion.

Arcelli hissed in amusement. "I will bring pride to my master. I will take the powers of Fenrir's Flute as my own, and the world will greet its new Queen as sssssoon as I'm done with you!"

She struck the ground near herself with the huge trident, and a watery path began to snake its way on to the macadam, easily keeping pace with the running men.

"Fools think they can run from a hurricane, when they are already in its eye!"

When the path ended a little ways ahead of them, water from it arose from the ground, and curled in the air. It became two whorls, and each one took one running Ghostbuster within it. Peter and Ray each held their breaths as a suffocating vortex of water kept them from moving.

She slowly slithered up the road, towards the the two men, now drowning in the water whorls.

"This is what happens when you interfere with someone who has a connection to a higher power," she said, ending in a wicked hissing cackle.

"And I can still discover the location of Fenrir's altar, even without my staff! Do not think they were my only connection to that information!" She readied the trident. "They were useful, unlike your friend in there that refused to open his mouth! Once he dies for lack of your assisstance, I will be the only left that knows the secrets of Ragnarock!"

She lowered the trident ominously, and the whorls moving both of the men to line them each up with one huge prong of her trident. Peter and Ray, still inside the watery whirls, were turning red from holding their breath, and also struggling uncomfortably.

"And the next one to fall on my list, after he, and you, will be that redheaded lover of his that also refused to cooperate!"

Araelli rushed forward, lightning fast.

Stopped just short of the two of them, she screamed loudly, and the watery trident fell, splashing into the ground as if it had never been solid. After writhing in agony, she fell onto her hands, shaking violently. "What-?"

She rolled once, away from the center of the road. There, she saw gold sparks coming out of a live pole wire, which had been downed, and saw that she had slithered over it.

Shaking from the shock, she fell to her hands…

…and a loud _crack_! was heard behind her. She felt something cause the tiniest rush of air over her head.

Her face fell to absolute horror when she turned around. There was Winston, who had just fired a single shot, and the top half of the cane was now blown off. Pieces of the red jewel atop it littered the ground, and the serpent head at the top of it was now an indistinguishable mass of melted metal, running down onto her tail. She realized too late that she had unconsciously released it when she was electrocuted.

She gazed, terrified of the sight of the destroyed cane, the top of which was dissipating into steam. Watery ribbons began to channel out of her, and floated up to the sky. Aracelli took a frenzied look at her hands, which were turning more and more typically human by the second. She began screaming in desperate protest the entire time, and the reek of burning flesh penetrated the air.

The water whorls around Peter and Ray dissipated, leaving the two of them stunned, soaked, and coughing hard on the ground.

The rest of Aracelli was also beginning to turn less serpentine and more human as the ribbons of water continued to stream out of her. Soon enough, she was left there, sitting defensively on the ground, looking so much more now like a pitiful, frail, semi-human creature than a powerful sorceress. Winston immediately rushed forward, and held her at throwerpoint.

Ray and Peter, after finishing coughing and wheezing in an effort to get some air and clear their lungs, managed to catch up to Winton.

What was left of Dolores Aracelli covered her face with an arm, and held out a disturbingly scaled hand. "Please…please spare me" she cried, cowering. "I am a mother…I am a grandmother! Please! Find it in your hearts to forgive me!"

Winston shifted, ready to shoot. "For what you did to our man and lady in there, we oughta blast you to oblivion. I get sick to my stomach when I think of you in the containment unit, in the same place as they are."

"Have pity on me! You won't have to do it if you have pity! Please! Ple-"

All three opened fire, and soon, she was writhing in the air.

Ray threw out a trap.

Winston's brow furrowed as he watched her. "No trap."

Ray was taken aback for a moment. "Winston?"

Peter also looked over to him, his attention riveted to the dark man by the depth of his anger.

"No trap!" repeated Winston. "She's got the nerve to ask for pity from us now! I'm tellin' ya…what I saw, I think this one belongs in the Netherworld. I'm a religious man, and I know was taught not to judge…but this time, I think I'd rather have a few Divine points deducted from my account than have this thing in the same building as Egon and Janine."

The other two men nodded in approval, and the men now used the trap solely as an additional hand to keep Aracelli's form steady. They found that the force needed to keep her aligned was minimal…she hardly took any effort at all to control, her powers given to her by channeling Jormunger now removed with the destruction of her cane.

With a final, pathetically long and drawn out "PLEASE! Have pity!" Winston fired two more shots, and with an agonized scream, she seemed to burst apart, leaving only a swirling cloud of superheated steam in her wake.

_**An incredible insult to my name**_, complained Jormunger, who had stopped mid-air to closely watch Aracelli's destruction. _** I dislike being made a fool by those who seek out my powers and are unable to overcome the smallest of challenges.**_

The twisting ribbon of firey water in the air dissipated, and Jormunger was gone also, taking along the sound of heavily rushing water it made.

Peter cocked a grin. "Gee, gods don't like it when their little gophers get one-upped, huh?"

Winston turned and ran toward the front of the building. "We gotta get to Egon and Janine, guys. He looked like he was on his last leg through the scope of what I saw of 'im." All three of them headed back toward the underground chamber.

* * *

Janine sobbed quietly aside what was left of Egon's tortured unconscious body. Soon enough, she heard sets of footsteps quickly coming toward her.

They were here.

She suddenly felt someone very near her, and looked up into Peter's confident, smiling face as he went down on one knee in front of her.

They won.

_Of __course__, we won!_ the look on his face said.

They're the Ghostbusters.

They're here to believe you…and they always get what they're after.

They…

…always…

Peter, cocky with the victory they just had, reached up, and fluffed his fingers through her red hair. "Hey," he whispered. "Nobody's dying on Venkman's shift. We'll get him some help right away."

Somehow, she smiled. He made her smile, even now. This was probably one of the few times in his life that Dr. Peter Venkman could ever be accused of having a glowing face. Of seeming almost like an avenging angel. A deliverer. The best older-brother-like jackass a girl could ever ask for.

They locked eyes for a few seconds, and, after he gave her a cool wink, immediately got back on his feet, and made it over to where Ray and Winston were examining Egon, making careful distinction over how much a medical center could help…and how much one couldn't.

She gazed in turn at each of her three heroes, Ray's and Winston's faces darkening with worry over their friend. They were _all_ delivering angels. They always set…things…right…

The moment Peter turned away from her, she had yet another agonizing moment to herself, and everything was darkened again. She couldn't stop Egon's last words from thundering through her mind.

"…_I __will not__…acknowledge your… acquaintance should we…meet. I __unequivocally__… refuse to speak to you…anymore about this issue, or anything else ever again..."_

Watching the four of them, she heard her name being called from near her, and Slimer's yellow eyes appeared, and blinked from where he was hiding behind one of the columns in the chamber.

"Slimer…" whispered Janine softly, as the little green ghost floated over to her.

Slimer babbled, and she could make out the words "Janine safe". She smiled.

The ghost took one of her hands, and gave it a most gentlemanly, not-slimy kiss on the back of it.

"Oh, Slimer!" Janine cried, grabbing the little ghost into a hug. "Where did you learn that? Thank you so much!"

Slimer hugged her back, and Janine went back to wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, as Winston and Ray were about to pick up Egon's body to take to the Ecto-1.

The air seemed to cling to her, its cold dampness exacerbating her new-found desolate isolation. As much as she was thrilled to see the boys reunited, and have Slimer's greeting, it was all half-hearted.

All she could think of was…no more firehouse, no more Slimer, no more Ray or Winston…or even, she had to admit, Dr. Venkman.

And no more E—

-and…no more…Dr. Spengler.

She didn't have the heart to tell anyone, especially the little ghost, she had not just been fired…but also sent away.

That will come later.

But the priority always was…to stop being a child, and move on.

* * *

Ray and Winston went down so fast next to Egon, they slid on the earthy ground into a kneel over his body, Janine backing further away so they had room to move.

"A'right," said Winston, "what do we got here?"

Ray felt the skin on the tall physicist's pallid forehead, and over his flushed cheeks. He couldn't stop saying "wow" softly over and over to himself. He noted Egon's missing eyeglasses, and was drawn to cradle his cheek again. He passed a thumb over his blonde eyebrows, which were turned ever so slightly up in their inner corners. "He must have been here for days. He's so hot..." With a tear in his eye, he struggled against breaking down.

Winston spread open the jacket, vest, and shirt around Egon's body, and his eyes went wide open with what he saw. "Ripped apart, like he was wrestlin' a grizzly or somethin'. And he's got some potentially broken ribs on the right side." He put a dark hand on his chest, and pulled it off for a moment in shocked reaction to the temperature of his skin. "Yeah, it's like he's on fire." He tucked the other hand under his sweat-drenched head. As he put an ear next to his mouth, causing Ray to pull his hands away, he gently rolled his head back, and a faint, hot breath of air escaped from his fevered, slightly parted lips. "He's hangin' in there, but his breathin's really shallow," he observed, continuing to listen.

"Wait," said Ray, "What's with his sleeve here?"

Ray saw the sleeve that had previously been torn by the living, serpent binds that held the physicist to the ground for over an entire day. Spreading the halves apart, Ray saw his deeply black-and-blue wrist, and turned it over to the palm side to follow the bloody tracks circling it like a bracelet to their source.

"Potential broken wrist, too…and what's this? Two puncture wounds. And green tracks leading up." He tore the jacket and shirt a bit further up. "Way up," he said, gliding his hand further and further along the green-streaked muscles of his claw mark-covered arm. "They probably go all the way up past the shoulder."

Winston ever-so-cautiously picked up Egon's head enough to enable him to slide away the clothes on his right shoudler down a bit. There, on the solid muscles of his shoulder and chest, and spidering up to his lower neck, were more dark tracks. "Yeah…they're here, too."

Peter threw himself down to his knees next to the two of them, also. "What's goin' on?"

"It's bad, Peter. Really bad." Ray sniffed, gritting his teeth to fight back the fear and anger over what he saw, desperately trying to keep his cool. "I—I can go in Ecto-2 and guide you to a medical center."

W nodded gravely. "Yeah." He paused, not wanting to say the words in his mouth, but finding it necessary. "But…you think a hospital can fix this?"

Ray struggled. He _had_ to be strong. "They can stabilize him and give him pain and sleep meds," he said, softly stroking Egon's disheveled, wet hair, which, instead of curling up neatly like it usually did, threatened to cover an eye. "But I'm sure these wrist wounds and tracks are more than just physical, so a hospital won't help him much, the same way it didn't help us when we got covered in that ectoplasmic-laced chemical. He might have to do most of his recovery at the firehouse where we have more tools to deal with that, or at least keep it in check if all we can do is wait."

Peter also took a quick look at what Egon's layers of business attire was concealing, and flashed angry eyes at Winston. "Good call, my man." He said, to which Winston bit his lip and nodded in anger.

The psychologist sighed heavily. "Well, thanks for blowing my 'god' complex right out of its nice little bubble, Spengs," Peter angrily said, more to himself than to anyone else. He snapped his head to the men. "Someone'll have to hold 'im steady after we pack 'im up in Ecto-1," said Peter, getting up and running toward the car. "I'm driving that thing like a bat outta hell until we get somewhere useful!"


	25. Chapter 25

The Damocles Solution 25

Winston looked up at the clock on the way to Egon's hospital room. 8AM. Though he had made peace so easily with Janine in the Ecto-1 on the way here after their rescue, making peace with himself was a much more difficult task.

He sighed heavily as he walked alongside Dr. Venkman through the sterile corridors. "She was there because of _me_, Peter."

"I'm telling ya, Sureshot. Don't feel guilty," said Peter confidentially, now that they reached the door to Egon's room. He stopped the two of them and pointed a finger at Winston, who was still heavy with contrition even after thirty-plus hours since the rescue. "I want you to know one thing before we go in there. Janine was the best. The. _Best_! man on the job back there. If it—"

"-I dunno, man. It was all my fault, I keep tellin' ya. I shouldn'a pushed either one to—"

"-You're not listening to good ol' Dr. Venkman," Peter insisted. "Spit up that guilty pill some quack prescribed for ya and just listen. _He _was gonna go anyway, even if he knew what was gonna happen. And if that were anyone else with him, including one of those losers from 'that group that meets under the Lincoln Tunnel at the stroke of midnight and brings boatloads of Twinkies', yanno what woulda happened?" He paused, leaning in. Continuing even more intensely, he emphasized the words by giving timed pokes to one of the tall dark man's solid shoulders. "They woulda cooperated and given them anything they wanted, _OR_ they'd probably would've ran outta there to leave the guy in this room _there_ to get tortured and die. Got that?"

Winston shifted his weight, and pursed his lips tightly. He silently and strongly nodded, but his dark eyes obviously revealed he had a long ways toward forgiving himself for getting Janine, especially, caught in the mess they extricated her and Egon out of.

"And…do me a big favor, willya?" asked Peter, sheepishly.

"Sure. What?"

He put the back of a free hand to his mouth. "Don't tell Janine I said that about 'er. She'll just want more money and personal days out of it," he said with a wink.

Half of the dark man's mouth turned upwards, and silently, he nodded again.

"So," continued Peter, giving Winston a solid slap on the back, "let's call ourselves Gimpbusters for now, and get this guy outta here now that he's been stabilized for a whole day. I know that's what he's gonna want, and considering the looks of what he's got, this place won't be able to do much more with him but line their own pockets with our insurance money. 'Kay?"

Winston nodded again, the black device in his hands at the ready.

Peter turned, and sashayed in to Room 317 of the Crown of Mercy Medical Center. Winston closely followed behind, the electronic version of Tobin's book given to him by Ray at the ready in case Egon felt well enough to talk in depth this time, as they needed something more specific to go on than what they saw. They had a very good idea what his malady was, but wanted to confirm it with Egon.

Opening the door, there was Egon, propped up in the silence of the room, horridly pale and simultaneously deeply flushed. His left ankle was in a light brace, his right hand in an oddly-formed cast, and his blonde brows deeply furrowed over his closed eyes. In an earlier visit, Ray had specified to the doctors that due to the paranormal nature of the wounds on his wrist, he'd appreciate it if they somehow rigged it so the cast did not cover them. The doctor had heard more than enough about their work to allow for the special request.

Peter winced. At least his _physical_ recovery wouldn't be all that unusual…it was the _way_ everything that was delivered to him that was cruel. He walked up to the edge of the hospital bed, rested his forearms on the railings, and observed. Very closely. He squinted. Something bothered him.

Sensing someone watching him, Egon barely opened his eyes, obviously extremely uncomfortable, and also not appreciative to being watched in such a…_weird_…way.

"Hey," whispered Peter, taken aback at first at the odd color of his irises. "This whole Ragnarock thing…at least we know now why you're always some sorta cursed, cosmic dartboard***** that attracts every owie in the universe right to ya."

The blonde snarled in intense pain and even more intense insult, and shifted. "Where…is she?" he growled, closing his eyes, and wincing. His left hand vacillated above two places, in a desire to decide whether to brace one or the other. It seemed that he didn't know which to tend to first-his right arm, which still featured the evil, blackish-green vein discoloration snaking up and inbetween the muscles on it, or his broken side, which the doctors told them earlier that quite frankly, there wasn't much they could do about either.

Winston grinned broadly. The only other time he was conscious, this was the first question he asked then, too. Egon didn't seem to remember much about the past day or so. "She's gone back with Ray to get your stuff and hers. And her car." He sighed. "She's fine."

Egon's only reaction was to take his own turn to sigh deeply, and look much, much less tense. And choose to brace his arm first, inwardly relieved beyond words no one said her name.

Peter thumbed back at Winston. "Yanno, Sureshot's pack here went 'splodey in the car on the way getting here. He barely threw it out the back door of the Ecto-1 in time before it blew a hole in the ground a city block wide. Remember that?"

Egon sat up a bit, drew his brow down even further, shocked and disappointed. He slowly shook his head no.

"That's a pretty neat idea you had there," Peter continued. "You're gonna mass produce those things in some godforsaken foreign country, for peanuts, ASAP if I have to give up takeout for ten years."

"That proves the concept is…still completely impractical for field use…when I get back, I can—"

Before Egon could say anything else, Winston slapped Peter lightly on the arm. "—Uh, Peter, let's work on gettin' him back on his feet before we worry 'bout equipment, alright?"

"Oh…yeah…that too," he said, trying to sound apologetic. "Anyway, last time we were in here, all you did was give me a laundry list of OTC stuff to bring ya so you can get out. Care to share what's making you look like you only have half your marbles in there now?"

"After…I receive a hydrodocone," grunted Egon in offense again, but not having the energy to counter Peter's asinine comment about his supposed loss of marbles. A nurse was called, and a cute one at that. Soon enough, the small pill was given and taken.

"She called it…'Jormunger's Bite'," said Egon after washing down the opioid with water.

Winston flipped out the Guide, and scanned the electronic pages. "Yeah, that's what Ray figured it was. Here's what we've got-'Jormungandr—a huge water-based serpent. An ancient Norse leviathan, offspring of the fire god and frost goddess.' And it sez: 'The origin of a debilitating, excruciating ritual poison, known by worshippers as Jormunger's Bite. Worshippers have on very, very rare occasion, approximately once every one hundred-fifty years, extracted venom from Jormungandr's own essence by an unknown method. It is diluted close to a hundred times over so it may be handled by humans. Used rarely to kill, and more for ritualistic ceremonies.'"

Peer shuddered. "A backup for bad weddings?"

Winston rolled his eyes, then continued. "When injected, the venom has proven to be largely incurable, with unknown alternatives for antivenom. However, its effects are lessened with time. Because it presents a long halflife, receipients have been disabled by its use up to and over two months." He closed the ebook shut with a soft click.

Egon sighed exasperatedly, closing his eyes and sinking back into the bed. "Two months."

Peter pointed his finger at Egon. "Hey. I know that meant 'oh, no, I can't go 'busting for two months.' And I don't wanna hear it." When he saw Egon's increasingly bristled look, he knew he hit the nail on the head. "Yeah, we're gettin' you out today," and he opened his briefcase to present everything from fever reducers to anti-nausea remedies, including a change of clothes consisting of spare eyeglasses, shoes, a black tee and khakis, "but I'm tellin' ya. You look like you had a bad day with a whole gang of haunted nail bats, even without this goofy Norse thing, so relax and eat some Twinkies for us when we're out, 'kay?"

"Well, that's a much _nicer_ thing to say to 'im, Peter," said Winston sarcastically, to Peter's miffed chagrin.

Egon nodded, and leaned back agianst the bed, massaging his temples while he waited stoically for the pill to work. "However, the nanosecond I am dischargeable, I am doing exactly that—discharging."

Winston smiled, as difficult as it was for him to do. "Don't worry, man. We'll get ya out."

* * *

The tall blonde sunk far down into the back seat of Ecto-1 as room for his long legs would allow, groaning deeply and often, and massaging his whitish temples.

"Man, I can't believe _all that_ wore off already! Must be potent stuff," said Winston, rounding a turn.

"What mattered was…the hour from last examination…to discharge," Egon managed to squeeze out before going back to grinding his teeth.

Peter, sitting aside Egon, spread his hands toward Winston. "Give 'im a break, he's got the venom of a _god_ runnin' through his veins. Just goes to show ya how tough we are," he said, grinning stupidly. He turned briefly toward Egon aside of him, and shook his finger. "You know, Spengs, all you're doin' is feeding my 'god'-complex."

Egon's breath caught a few times, and reached under his glasses to rub his eyes. "I am sure seeing…the patient looking forward to the next hydrocodone, even though…they have taken one only two-and-a-half hours ago…would easily remedy any sort of 'god'-complex."

Peter was starting to look concerned; the hand Egon was using to rub eyes was literally shaking now. He squinted again. There was still something very wrong with the physicist, in spite of his desire to get back to 'busting. He couldn't put his finger on it, though, and decided it was better to just observe, and let Egon alone for now—he knew he'd only be annoying him further. Or rather, he thought with a devilish smirk, more than _necessary_.

However, he was still determined to keep the mood light. They'd be rounding the last turn in just a few seconds, and Egon would be much better once he stayed put rather than traveling. _Janine's inevitable coddling would also help 'im, no doubt_, he thought, rolling his eyes. "I got an idea," he thought out loud. "They should make a TV show about a miserable genius who sucks down pain pills, makes witty, sarcastic comments to all the wonderful people around him, and never quite has to account for it."

Egon frowned ever so slightly, and sighed.

Winston waved the comment off, and he pulled into the doors of the firehouse. "Naaaaaah. Somethin' like that'd never get off the ground."

The car came to a halt, and Winston got out first, Peter a close second due to his picking up Egon's crutch, and both of them made their way around to his door. They glanced at each other when they got there, with the silent understanding that they were there to catch him if he couldn't stay up on his own power.

Ray had already been back for a while, and walked quickly up to them with a cloudy expression. "Hey guys. Get 'im out without too much drama?"

Peter thumbed-up as he opened the car door. "No drama." Helping Egon out, he watched the furthest corners of the firehouse, keeping a wary eye out for Slimer…who never showed up to splat him at the front door! _AGAIN!_ He ground his teeth as he shut the door. The _nerve _of that stupid little green ghost!

Winston half-grinned sarcastically. "If there was one sole reason why the Good Lord made OTC meds, today woulda been it."

Ray then looked up at Egon, now standing , and being passed the crutch from Peter. "Egon," he whispered, taking his hands out of his pockets. "How ya feelin'?"

He gazed vapidly at Ray for a moment, precariously balancing himself with the long crutch under his arm. His answer was to close his eyes, and then silently sink so far down, Winston and Peter did in fact have to support him. Peter made an irritated comment about how useless the stupid crutch was, and leaned it for now against the door of the Ecto-1.

Ray persisted as Winston and Peter brought him around and started their way up the stairs with him. "Um, I dropped off Janine at her apartment," he said, walking up the stairs behind the three men.

Though he didn't make a single sound, Peter and Winston both could feel Egon's body stiffen for just a moment, as if he had suddenly been shot. Each assumed that the other did something stupid, carrying him too roughly or the wrong way.

"She said she's gonna take a bit of time off. She didn't say why," continued Ray, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his khakis.

The incapacitated physicist gave him an unexpected, scalding side-glare over his shoulder as he was being carried, and Ray's eyes widened in intimidation for a moment.

They made it to the landing, and Ray's brow furrowed. He also felt rather brushed off due to Egon's stubborn, stony silence at his information, which Ray kindly thought would be a top priority due to Egon and Janine having their continued heavily-flirting-but-somewhat-dating relationship up until now.

Arching an eyebrow high, the occultist continued, figuring the poison was causing Egon's filthy look. "I asked her if they did anything to her, and she said no, not beyond what you guys saw. I don't understand it. Egon? Did you see anything we all didn't that we should know about?"

Egon, now released by Winston as he was ready to step into the bunkroom, stopped for a moment. He turned, finally managing to fully acknowledge Ray, riveting him with that same horridly pale but still piercingly tempestuous glare. "_No_. I did _not_."

Ray started, wide-eyed at the—fury?-in his few words.

Peter whistled. "Gee, what's got you sounding like a caged tiger, Spengs?" To him, Egon sounded not in pain, but angry-almost _offended_. He looked over to Winston with a raised eyebrow, and the large dark man just shrugged.

The comment perturbed Egon enough to glare down at Peter for a split second, and back at Ray with a half-hearted, exhausted apology. He continued addressing them all as he began to turn away, urging Peter to help him in the bunkroom. "She has just been through a life-threatening, trying experience," he said, and it sounded like Peter's criticism was forcing him to control himself more than anything else. "It makes sense that she would want to avoid the firehouse and gather her thoughts before moving on to any other endeavors." Peter half-dragged him in, Winston joining Peter in carrying him once the doorway was passed.

On reaching the bunk, and subsequently his bed, they helped him down, and he removed his eyeglasses. Immediately he got as comfortable as he could. He covered his deeply furrowed brows with an arm, and seemed to almost disappear, except for the grated breaths.

Peter's brow was also knitted in thought, as he looked down on him for a long moment before he and Winston left the bunkroom. There was that thing that wasn't right again.

Ray, unsettled by Egon's sudden and inexplicably malignant tone, was silent as they made their way toward the couch.

"Don't worry Ray, he was like that the whole way back in the car," said Peter. He turned up his mouth. "Sometimes I think we shoulda left 'im there."

"They can't help him much there, now Peter," Winston admonished him. "Ya said so yourself." He turned to the occultist, and promptly ignored Peter, who was childishly sticking out his tongue. "So, Ray, ya gonna get some readings on 'im?" he said, plopping himself down on a comfy, worn cushion. "I can do it, yanno, if you don't wanna—"

Ray sighed, distracted and upset by strange behavior on not just one, but two counts now. "Um…ah…yeah. That's OK. I'll do it. That way we can filter the residuals from the Jormungar poison in case anything new develops." He looked to Winston with determined, but saddened eyes. "I'm also gonna keep trying to call Janine and see if there's anything she wants to talk about. I'll try again right now."

Winston nodded silently.

Peter had long since disappeared into his office, and propped his feet up on his desk. He latched his fingers behind his head, and glared up at the light on the ceiling.

_Something familiar about the mood in this place. Something veeeeeery familiar…_

* * *

Peter looked in from the doorway, a puffed, annoyed breath escaping. He made his way over to Egon, who had been lying there unmoving for practically the whole day.

He noticed something was missing, and, leaning over him, stopped for a moment and listened.

Egon's breathing was deafeningly silent, as opposed to the grating struggle it had been since he was placed in his bed.

Peter carefully lowered the arm covering his friend's eyes, and turned his head gently toward him. The look on Egon's face, like he just so happened to be catnapping, or how it looked when he happened to fall asleep in the middle of something when completely comfortable, was just too placid not to be terribly disturbing. Peter placed a hand on Egon's chest-and a chill ran through him. He wasn't feeling it rise and fall. He ground his teeth.

There were so many things wrong with this picture, he couldn't stand it. "Spengs…hey. Hey, Spengs," he said, shaking Egon's shoulder and lightly tapping him on the face.

Egon inhaled deeply, and after throwing his head back, and emitting a deep, long groan, continued to grate away, a wash of pain shadowing his face again.

When Egon managed to crack open his eyes, Peter noticed with dismay, and even fright, that they closely matched his own eye color…though they were missing a certain brightness and spark. They were not a shade of "emerald" or "forest". They were the color of green glass that had been scratched, or ground, or sandpapered.

A hushed, deep, irritated "_what_?" was all Egon finally managed to say.

"You better get back in the saddle, bucko, you're slipping fast," whispered the furious psychologist. "I suggest you make an effort at not permanently taking a hike to the Netherworld or whereverthehell you'll end up if you don't buckle down."

Egon snarled, and shifted uncomfortably. "I'd be grateful if…you'd leave…me alone," he breathed in a tone that sounded like he would shout it if he had the strength.

"Don't you count on it," growled Peter.

_That's it,_ he thought, the dark realization creeping on him as he watched his friend close his eyes, and slip back into grating, open-mouthed half-sleep. He walked out of the bunkroom, and made his way back to the couch where Ray already sat.

_That's the answer._

_The answer is…that he's not __fighting__ it_.

* * *

Winston flipped through a book catalog, making a few selections, and watching the time to make sure he didn't miss his turn to check on Egon. Slimer rested himself in the seat aside him, his eyebrows raised, quietly pretending to flip through an upside-down book in his hands.

Peter and Ray sat in silent cogitation on the couch, when they simultaneously turned to one another.

They both managed to speak, one saying "Thre's something wrong with Janine", the other, "There's something wrong with Spengs."

Peter frowned, and ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "What's your 'something wrong?' You go first, Tex."

Ray turned his mouth down. "It's Janine. She's blowing off my calls. And on top of that, she's just…not _here_. That's not right. Doesn't make sense for her to say she's taking time off now while Egon's in such bad shape. It's like she's avoiding us!" he bowed his head sadly. "It's—it's like she _hates _us."

Peter nodded, then tossed his head toward the bunkroom. "Yeah. She never even stopped in the hospital when he was in there. And it's no small wonder why she's not practically _sleeping in there_ aside of Spengs right now."

Shifting, and looking bit relieved, Ray cocked an eyebrow. "And you?"

Peter rubbed his face from hairline to chin, then rested his face in his hands. "He's not fighting it, Tex. He's too quiet, even for Egon. He's pretty much lettin' himself slip into it whenever it wants him to." He turned away, terribly disturbed. "He's _not fighting it_," he whispered. "He's terrified, Tex. _Terrified_ of something." He puffed out his cheeks, exhaling in frustration.

"Well, I can't blame 'im," said Winston, flipping another glossy page. "He _is _the only one that can translate the Ragnarock glyphs after all that happened. Man's got a huuuuuuge bullseye right between the eyes now on'im. Maybe we can paint a couple on those red glasses he wears."

Ray bit his lip, furious. "Yeah. That's gotta have something to do with this."

After a pause, Winston's eyes flashed, and he dropped the catalog a bit. "Yanno what?" he cautioned, staring out to an unknown point in front of him, his mind obviously occupied with some sort of epiphany.

"Yeah?" asked Peter.

Winston turned toward him, his eyes narrowing. "He said, 'move on to other endeavors…'"

They all exchanged glances at each other, with that knowing, _are-you-thinking-what-I'm-thinking_ look.

Peter threw himself back into the back of the couch, rubbing his face, and Ray ground his teeth, making a fist with each hand that previously rested on his legs.

Pointing his finger at Winston, Peter mused. "God, he has nerve. That boy is so damn lucky he lives with a psychologist and knows at least four other people who have their emotional wiring screwed in halfway right, he doesn't even know."

"So there _is _some kind of problem between the two of them! I'm calling Janine again," said Ray determinately, bolting upright. "I'm gettin' to the bottom of this, too."

Ray headed over to her desk, the other two men in rapt attention. He dialed her number, and when she answered, lowered his head, and sat in her chair. "Janine? Are you OK?" He fiddled with a pen on her desk. "We—we miss you already."

Paused a moment to listen, the other men could see his face growing in frustration, and he put down the pen. "Janine, please, _please_ talk to me. We know something's wrong. Egon's acting weird, and so are you. What's wrong? You ca—"

He paused again, this time, his face growing in horrified shock. He lunged forward in the chair, looking ready to break down in tears. "Janine! No…no! You can't! Please don't! You—"

Slowly, he removed the receiver from his ear and, after staring it it for a long moment, placed it back in the cradle. He looked up helplessly at Peter and Winston. "She says that she resigned!" He sat back, sniffed, and ran a hand through his hair. "She—she said she's not coming back!"

Peter leaped up from the couch, and started pacing in heated concentration. Winston leaned forward, rubbing his hands together in agitation.

Ray ground his teeth, his eyes streaming out tears. He made fists of his hands, and brought them down hard on the desk. "This isn't gonna happen! It's _NOT_! I'm going over there, getting the whole story, and _getting her back_! She's one of us. She's _not _leaving us!"

Peter turned around in mid-pace, then threw Ray a communicator. "Here. Take this. Keep us informed. I have an idea when she decides she's not gonna answer the door 'cuz she sees it's you there."

The redhead nodded in understanding. The psychologist didn't say "_if_ she decides", he said "_when"_.

Ray grabbed his coat and hat, and ran toward Ecto-1.

"Godspeed, man," said Winston, and Ray nodded again, appreciating the encouragement before opening the door to the car.

* * *

*-If you haven't read it, go check out Princess Artemis' hilariously sad (because I don't know how else to describe it) story titled "_Egon Spengler and the Dartboard of Doom_." Go, shoo now, it's an awesome story, and it pokes fun of stories just like this one. I'm just following the herd writing a story like this, and I won't be offended if you go read hers right now. I'll wait.


	26. Chapter 26

The Damocles Solution 26

Ray climbed the narrow, turning staircase up to Janine's apartment. Holding his ear to the door when he reached it, he could hear a loud ruckus of heavy-sounding things being moved, and Janine grunting and cursing up a storm inside.

_She is home…that's a start,_ thought Ray as he knocked on her door.

He could see shadows of feet appear under the door…

…which did not open for him.

Sighing heavily, he wiped away a tear. Getting the communicator out of his pocket, he moved away from the door, and hit the button to page Peter.

"_Yo, what's up, Tex? She not answering?_"

Ray sniffed. "No, Peter. I know she's home, I could hear her doing stuff in there. What do you say we should do?"

"_Just stay there for another 20 minutes or so. Maybe hang out at the car so you don't look weird. Follow the anchovies, and keep this thing on when you get in there. Make sure she keeps it when she tells us what went down between her and Loverboy_."

One of Ray's eyebrows shot up in confusion. "Uh, anchovies? Alright, Peter. I'll wait," he said, walking back down to the Ecto-1.

* * *

Seated there listening to the radio for a few minutes, hoping and praying Peter's plan, whatever it turned out to be, worked, Ray noticed a local pizzeria's van pulling up and parking in front of him outside the apartment complex.

He raised an eyebrow again. _Anchovies? That looks like the only thing around here that could possibly involve anchovies!_ He started back in the seat. _What the heck exactly did Peter do here?_

Sure enough, two teenaged kids stepped out of the van, each young man carrying no less that what Ray counted had to be ten deluxe pizzas.

He slapped his face with a palm. _Oh nooooo_.

They opened the complex door, and Ray followed the kids into the apartment, keeping pace a short distance away from them.

They both went up to Janine's door, and knocked. "Ma'am?" asked one of them.

At the end of the hallway, Ray saw the door open. "Oh my GAWD! What's this?"

The kids presented their pizzas. "We got a call from here for fourty anchovy pizzas, ma'am."

Janine's face went white as a sheet. "_What?_"

"Fourty anchovy pizzas. That'd be two-hundred-fifty, please, ma'am. We were told to knock off another sixty for a bulk discount."

Enraged, Janine gripped her hair and pulled at a loss for words. "This..is…outrageous! I did NOT order fourty anchovy pizzas! You have the wrong apartment!"

"Someone's gotta pay, ma'am, and this was the address we were given."

She pointed at the two of them, and Ray started galloping down the hall for fear that Janine would end up making the kids regret they ever took their job.

"Haven't you idiots ever heard of a CRANK CALL! I don't even LIKE anchovies! You take that back to where ya came from right now, or I'll-"

"-I got it," cut in Ray, handing the kids a wad of green. "I'm Dr. Ray Stantz from the Ghostbusters."

"Whoa!" said one of them, "We see you guys on TV all the time! You're awesome!"

Ray blushed as Janine slammed the door shut, and waved his hand in modesty. "Hold on a minute for me." He turned toward the door. "Janine? Janine! I know you're in there now. You can talk about it, you know. We love you. We want you back."

He could hear soft crying now on the inside of the door, and a dark shadow underneath it. She was seated right at the bottom of the door.

Ray turned to the pizza kids. "Keep the change, and take these to our headquarters. We could use 'em there."

"Sure thing! Nice meeting you!" said one of them.

"Yeah, I'd gladly shake your hand, man, if I wasn't…you know…", said the other, shifting his pizza boxes and grinning.

He turned toward the door again. "Janine? We all pretty much figured out who the problem was. What did he tell you? C'mon. Open the door and tell us about it. We want you back." He couldn't help but sniff and wipe a tear away again. "Please?"

He heard a heavy, loud sigh on the other side of the door.

After a short pause, the shadow from under the door disappeared, and Ray's heart fell to the floor, fearful that she'd walk away from it and leave him there.

Utterly relieved when the door opened, he sighed deeply when the petite redhead beckoned him to come inside.

Ray walked in, and sat at the table while Janine grabbed some tissues in an effort to wipe away her running mascara.

Looking around, Ray was in shock, as everything was in boxes, neatly packed, ready to be moved away.

Janine sat at the other end of the table, wiping her face with her tissues. "It's over, Ray. He—he fired me. I'm moving, and I'm gonna have to look for another job."

Ray gazed at her in sympathy. "That's not what the three of us say," he said quietly. "So he's in the minority here. Tell us everything and we'll tell you what we can do about it. Oh, yeah—Peter and Winston are here too, on the other end of this." He presented the active communicator.

Janine stared blankly at the communicator for a moment, then slowly nodded. "I don't understand it, Ray…he kissed me back…then…he…," she cried, fading away before melting down into another storm of tears.

"Keep going, and tell us _everything_."

* * *

There was a knock at the door to the firehouse, and Peter opened it.

"Dr. Ray Stantz sent us here with your fourty anchovy pizzas."

Peter's eyes went wide_. I was counting on him sending them back! Or make Janine keep 'em!_ He waved his hands in the air, and quietly tried to shoo the kids away.

They both barged in, telling Peter he'd have to talk it over with Dr. Stantz, and they're only doing what they were told by him to do, and began dropping the pizzas off in turn on Janine's desk.

Slimer, now sipping delicately at a glass of sparkling water, began sniffing the air in curiosity. "Pizzaaaaaaaaaaa…," he sangsong to himself as best he could.

He floated towards the origin of the scent, and caught sight of at least twenty fresh, warm pizzas sitting on Janine's desk, with two young teenaged kids bringing in even more. There was Peter standing in front of her desk, waving his arms and trying to block the kids' way from depositing any more anchovies in the firehouse.

Slimer's eyes shot wide in desire, and his huge mouth watered.

"PIIIIIZZZZAAAA!"

He zipped to the desk as fast as he could, not even hearing Peter's protests over his approach.

"Slimer! No! We're sending these back! It was only to-!"

_SPLAT!_ went Slimer hard, right on Peter's face, knocking him over.

In two seconds flat, Slimer lapped up the pizzas on the desk, and devoured them, boxes and all.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRE PIIIIIIZZZAAAAAAAA!"

He followed his nose again, tracking the scent through the opened door of the firehouse to the van, where he found even more pizzas to inhale.

Peter gagged and groaned in disgust, wiping away sticky ectoplasm. "_AAAGH!_ This is NOT what I wanted to happen when I ordered those damn things!"

Winston raised an eyebrow, and flipped to the last page of the catalog he was perusing. "Well, at least _one _thing's gonna be back to normal now."

* * *

"And..that's the story," finished Janine, with a sigh.

They heard Winston's voice through the communicator. "_Hey, guys. I'm handlin' the distribution of the plan since Peter is busy giving Slimer a psychological recovery session_."

"Yeah, Winston, we hear ya," answered Ray, rolling his eyes at what the meaning could be to that bit of information.

"_Janine? Can ya hear me?_"

Janine wiped her nose. "Yeah, Winston, go ahead."

"_Peter told me to tell ya to keep this communicator on you at all times, turned on. He's gonna give the Mad Scientist a good chewing out, but it's gotta be done at the right time. He said he'll page ya when that is, and said under no uncertain terms to go near the firehouse until he does exactly that_."

Her eyes went wide. "Oh—okay. I won't…"

"_He says he's serious, Janine_," reported Winston as urgently as he could. "_Do NOT come near here_ _until he talks to Egon. It won't be pretty for anybody if ya do_."

She lowered her eyes, saddened that she'd have to wait an indiscriminate amout of time for a page to return to the firehouse-and to see Egon again. "Okay, Winston. I hear ya."

"_I'm sorry it has to be this way. But don't worry, it'll be OK. Alright?_"

"Yeah. Thanks guys."

"_Hang in there, girl. You're on your way right back here already_."

She smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."


	27. Chapter 27

The Damocles Solution 27

He had already begun some plans for a new and improved ionic destablizer, and adjusted half of the proton throwers to somewhat compensate for his current lack of use to the other men. He was, admittedly, a little miffed, as they had started taking _Slimer_ along with them on busts just to have another pair of hands to throw traps. He had also shuffled some secretarial work, which consisted mostly of matching up the excused court cases with the summons they had already received…since they didn't have a…

…he shook his head, clearing the stinging train of thought out of his mind before completing it.

The current self-assigned project to allay his boredom was to check every trap in the building to make sure it was clean. He knew the other men would find no end of irritation if they discovered this project, which required him to go up and down the stairs more than a few times, but he had no other idea how to spend so many weeks incapacitated than to do such things. It was only four days into his recuperation period, and already he was getting a touch of positive domicile-stimulated temperature fluctuation…or, as he explained to the rest of the men, was commonly known as _cabin fever_.

He had, in fact, found one trap that had not been emptied, which caused him to eject a supercillious "a-ha!" before emptying. When the men would get in, he'd have to address this problem to Peter. Since, he was sure, it was _his_ turn to do traps for whatever was in there, anyway.

Egon wiped his damp brow with a shirt sleeve, and eventually needed to steady himself by holding on to the wall of the containment unit, trying not to make the crutch fall in that annoying way it did when he forgot to hold on to it.

Despite his current extreme discomfort, it had been a relatively constructive day while the other men were out on a bust. He would have certainly been there with them if they had not chased him away with a proton gun under threat of all-day relentless sliming should he have gotten any closer to the vehicle. He had insisted that he was still of sound mind and could still contribute. However, "It's only been four days since you're back here!" they said. _Und so weiter, und so weiter, und so weiter_. And then, after they had to pick him up off the floor and plop him on the couch, he wisely thought better of it, and decided it was in his best interest to stay back.

Finished with the inspection, he arranged the pristinely cleaned traps, and placed them not _too _high, in neat piles. He would help allay the next day's boredom by bringing all them back up tomorrow.

He turned toward the exit…and looked up at the stairs. His head began to swim, and his vision almost blinded by greenish shadows. Those stairs were never an issue for him to climb before…but they seemed as tall as Mount Everest at this moment.

Perhaps if he took them slowly…

One, two, three, four steps he made upwards with the compeltely aggravating crutch. Why even use the extraneous thing? It was only a sprain, and not a break, and the support around it was well cushioned on the bottom. Oh well, doctor's orders were doctor's orders.

Reaching the landing, he turned, and had to steady himself again on the railing. The unfinished, intrusive thought about their now permanent lack of a secretary filled his mind, entirely against his will. This was all, in fact, _her _work he was doing…_her_ work. _Hers_. Shaking his head and sighing, he made it up another two steps, when he had to pause for a moment, rocking back and forth unsteadily, and wincing.

Perhaps…if he sat down before tackling the last few steps.

So there he sat on a cold metal step, his back and head against the wall, and his eyes shut, waiting for his vision and head to clear. He sighed, then unconsciously reached under his dress shirt, which hung open, to grip his right side, miffed that his annoying ribs refusing to cooperate any time soon.

He had long gotten annoyed with trying to do every button on a shirt with one hand, and for now, just threw his dress shirts on and left them that way. Peter gave him a thumbs up every time he saw he was not wearing a tee, and Egon rolled his eyes upward every time Peter gave him a thumbs-up.

He waited. _Four days since arriving here. Five days since seeing her._

Shaking his head again, and releasing a small sigh, he waited. Soon the greenish shadows would lighten, and the attack would pass, as he was starting to learn how to pace himself with the venom of a leviathan still raging mercilessly through his body. Well, not so much pace himself as take the few moments of clarity he had for all they were worth.

After contemplating the details necessary to build the new destabilizer, he felt the sickening need creeping upon him to support himself further. He removed his glasses, folded them and placed them in the pocket on his chest, then leaned forward in an effort to place his arm on the next stair or two up, and rest his head on it.

And that's when he realized he was not improving this time.

His head practically fell on his left forearm.

Immediately, there was no containment unit in the distance, there were no stairs, and there was no exit on the top of the stairs. Everything was bathed in the deepest veridian, and the fire had returned to every sinew in his body with a bloodthirsty vengeance.

What started as gasps, soon became screams that some strange, separated part of him couldn't believe he was the source of. Soon, even screams weren't enough to relieve or express the pain, and his voice eventually melted away into hoarse, ripped gasps and murmured cries. He had no idea for how long he allowed the deep green color to do whatever felt like-raking through every cell of his body and tearing every fiber of it to shreds.

Soon, he reached a point of utter exhaustion, and the sleeve of his shirt by now was wet, almost squeezeable, with sweat. Jormungar had did all it could to weaken him, now that it knew he was alone. It drank in his blood—it knew who to attack now, and when. It knew there was nothing else left now, and there was no one to help him. Or, better yet, _stop _him.

He turned his head slowly, and with the one eye not buried in his sleeve, swore he saw an outlined vision of Jormungar, green on green, grinning at him with a thousand red teeth, beckoning him.

He narrowed his eye, which now, if only he could see, was glowing and pulsing darkly with the same depthless veridian shade as the vision he beheld.

Secretary. The word stung, and it made him think again.

It occurred to him that so many things had been taken away, or voluntarily, but painfully, left behind in his life due to circumstances and hard decisions. The very few friends he made before being pushed through school so quickly he was graduating college in grade school. His family's approval…events since Uncle Cyrus's last visit proved that his uncle would only refrain from deriding his work, and would not, as he hoped, actively support it. Cyrus, after all, Egon knew, was still not wishing to fall out of favor with the rest of the powerful Spengler family. He thought about the dragon he had to put to sleep, though it broke his heart. And now, Ragnarock had taken…what he could only describe, as…his _soul_. No, it hadn't _taken_ anything, he corrected himself, just like his family hadn't _taken_ anything, just like the dragon wasn't _taken_…circumstances had _made him give it all up_. Ragnarock had made him _give up his soul_. _His _soul.

The leviathan beckoned him.

He gazed back at it with one darkened viridian eye, his body feeling like it was tearing into pieces.

"Just…take…me…," he breathed with resigned finality, his voice low, rasping, factual. Ragnarok had taken his soul, and in the only vengeance he could muster, he would make sure that Ragnarok would die with him, even though be it by Jormunger's slow-killing, poisonous claws. He shifted, and sighed slowly and deeply, for what he considered the last time, and his eye closed.

Resigned, Egon lay there, not feeling the coolness of the metal underneath anymore, but rather only the burning, roiling heat of the poison.

Jormunger laughed, the same laugh mirrored darkly in the little serpents that held him fast to the floor in Aracelli's prison.

His brow contracted in agony. _His _soul.

_Just…take me…_

_Take…me…_

Jormungar dove in, ready to claw at his throat, to claim more blood for itself—

...Egon never heard the door to the basement open. From the light pouring onto the metal steps, Ray appeared, already happily showered and changed like the rest of those that were now home from the bust were. Swinging a trap haphazardly in his hand, he planned to simply pop this hard-to-find, but easier-than-dirt-to-handle class II gooper in the unit and be done with it. He stopped immediately, annoyed at himself at doing something so stupid with a full trap. Peter's bad habits were wearing on him, mostly because Egon wasn't on a few busts now to give that stern _look_, reminding him not to do things like Peter does them.

Rounding the turn and taking his first step, he almost fell down the rest of the way when he saw the tall blonde sprawled out on the stairs. He shouted something into the nearby doorway.

Soon enough, many hands were desperately slapping at the unconscious physicist to wake up, then carrying him up the stairs, before finally placing him on his bed.

* * *

Leaving Egon in the bunkroom, Winston and Ray noticed that Peter looked absolutely distraught.

Earlier, when the psychologist lifted one of the blonde's eyelids, he shuddered when he saw the dark, blackish-green eye that sightlessly gazed out.

It had taken too long to get Egon to take a breath this time. And, when finally roused, all he repeated, in tortuous tones, over and over, was "All of you…let me go…".

Now, Peter's brow was furrowed. There was not one iota of irreverence in him now. That alone caused chills to run through Ray and Winston.

What he just saw was too terrifying. His friend was dying right in front of him, and what was worse, that friend _didn't care_. "Guys?" he began, his arms crossed, pacing back and forth. "It's time."

Winston put his hands on his hips. "Time…?"

Peter took a step back toward the bunkroom, cooly putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "For the psychological cowprod. C'mon Tex, Sureshot. We got a life to save, a relationship to salvage for two star-crossed lovebirds, and a willingly underpaid secretary to reinstate."

Ray leaned over in his loafers, looking at Egon rolling his head in pain in the bunkroom. He spread his hands. "He's going through another attack! He hardly even knows where is he is! Do you think it's a good time to do this? Shouldn't we wait until he's feeling, well, way better than he is now, so he can defend himself?"

Peter frowned. "We gotta do this now, Tex. If we don't, he's gonna cater to whatever that crap is running through him. He was half-dead, _again,_ when we found him just now. He's not gonna _have_ another two months if we don't do something. And even if we did wait, and he 'defends himself', you'll know it would take six of us to hold 'im down when you hear what I'm gonna say to'im." He looked at each of them resolutely. "So I'm telling ya. Let's do this. _Now_."

Ray shuffled uncomfortably, and Winston pushed up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, blowing out a strong puff of air in worry.

Peter reached in his pocket. He brought out a communicator, and switched it on. "Hey. Hey! Ya there?" he spoke into it.

"_Yeah, Dr. V. I'm here,_" he heard Janine's voice say. "_I'm at the store, whaddayawant?_"

Peter held up a finger. "I want _you_…to listen. _Just listen_. Put your communicator on mute, don't ever take it off, and don't say one single word no matter what you're gonna hear from anyone." He paused for a moment. "Including… _me_," he added darkly.

"_Uh…okay…_"

The psychologist, indeed, looked intensely disturbed. "I mean it, Janine. It's not gonna be pretty."

"_Awright! Awright! I get it_!"

Replacing the communicator in his pocket, Peter, Ray, and Winston made their way in the room, and there was Egon, wincing and straining, clutching his right arm.

Ray sat in the bed next to Egon, desperately wishing he could take it all away. Egon looked like he was in just as much agony as when they took him to the med center on finding him four days ago. Ray put a hand to his damp forehead. "He's burning up again, Peter…I don't know.…"

"Hey, Spengs. Sooooo...whadayathink you're doin'?"

Coming back to consciousness, Egon opened his blackish-green eyes, and slowly made his way to sitting up again.

"Ya really screwed up today, Spengs. Decided to do a little too much work, huh?"

"I was…merely trying to keep myself preoccupied and…useful—" with a grunt, he leaned forward hard onto his hands.

"So..whatchabeen doin'?"

"Cleaned…traps out," he began, pushing himself backward toward the headboard in an effort to lean against it. "Did some routine checks…organized court summons…"

"Gee, think you might want to take up _stenography_ and brush up on your shorthand sometime while you're at it?"

Egon glared at him, annoyed, though his head was spinning around as if he were dizzy. "My shorthand is…perfectly fine. Stenography would be…a valuable skill also…I would be making myself useful these few weeks by doing the regular checks and paperwork." He strained to say the next few words as the sweat began to roll down his face again. "Since…our…secretary-"

"—has been reinstated." Peter leaned close to him, taking the golden opportunity while he had it. This was the first time he had mentioned anything at all about having a secretary in the past four days.

Egon's eyes went wide.

"Yeah. I heard. And I got news for ya, Spengs. She's staying. It's not often you'll find a secretary who's willing to work for peanuts like she does."

"Peter," Egon began, a flash of terror in his eyes. "she can't…she—"

"Oh? She can't? Did you give her a pink slip for too many typing errors?"

"No…Peter…She can't be here!" He was starting to get an increasingly hostile flash to his eyes. "I demand you call her and tell her she can't come back!"

"Nope, got news for ya," said Peter, signaling for Ray to go around to sit his right, and having Winston standing closely by on his left. "Next time I call her, it's to pick up some chili power and a few more Post-It note packages."

Egon made an instinctive start for the psychologist, and Ray and Winston leaned in, and sat on the bed next to him to restrain his arms. "What are the two of you doing? This is nonsense! Peter, as a full partner in this business, I have every right to make decisions as to who is charged with managing our internal and financial matters as you! Relinquish you position and—!"

"—Spengs, _you_ manage making the new toys, _you_ manage most of the battle plans, and _you_ manage what that green stuff is in the back of the fridge. _I_ will manage who answers the phone, and who knows where the checks are. That was always _my_ contribution, and it's worked for years. Stick to your own side of the fence and it'll be smooth sailing, like it always was."

"Peter, you are _not_ understanding me! Ray, Winston, please release me. This is an imporant matter and I should be as free to move as he is!"

"They're not going anywhere. So…what I'm understanding from you is that you seem to think no one's good enough for ya. Amirite?"

"No—no, Peter," panted Egon, a sense of sheer panic building as Peter mercilessly pressed him. "Just listen. She cannot be here…"

"You know what? I think it _is _pretty personal with you."

Egon stopped struggling and narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"Personal. You know, _personal._ Afraid that she doesn't have enough capital to contribute to the Good of Science? Afraid that if you go within ten feet of her when she's at her desk you'll start forgetting squares on the Periodic table? Want her to apply to MENSA before you'll approve of any vacation time?"

"How can you _say_ that? That is a blatantly asinine statement!"

"And it's blatantly asinine to tell her not to come back here," Peter growled, getting up from the bed, a note of true anger in his words.

"No! It's not!" shot Egon back desperately, bucking hard against Winston and Ray's grip. "Ray, Winston, release me this instant! This is outrageous!" Turning again to Peter, he pleaded again. "Peter, how many times have we done things that I had a sudden inexplicable intuition to follow on, and it didn't turn into something—something disastrous? This is no different Peter, this is absolutely no-!"

Peter snarled. "Nah, you're _full of it_. Betcha she's throwin' herself at the next sugar daddy she probably already found, huh? Maybe she's having a dinner date with that Smart fella again? She can get anything she wants, yanno, if she wears a short enough skirt."

Nothing but pure rage was burning in the physicts's eyes. "I would usually accuse you vehemently of trying to practice on your associates," he growled, "but considering the usage of language such as this, this is not what seems to be your intention in this conversation—!"

"The intent of this conversation is to get our voluntarily underpaid secretary back in the door at 8AM where she _belongs_!"

Knowing his decision was in the minority of the group was enraging the physicist, and he began raising his own voice in frustration. "I will not stand to be interrogated like this!"

"Because you're just starting to realize she's just after your old man's money, right? Kinda worried about Spengler Labs being used for nail polish and gaudy jewelry in the future or something?"

Practically in tears, Egon tried desperately again to free himself from Ray's and Winston's grasps, and Ray had to hold on hard due to Egon's rising strength in his rage.

By now, Egon looked like his only intention in being released was to strike Peter right in the jaw. "_No!_ It's—it's _Ragnarok_! It'll _kill_ her! _I'll_ kill her! She can't be here! She can't!"

Ray sniffed, trying to hold on to the enaged physicist, saddened that his two friends were going at it like pit bulls. They had their times of bickering and annoying one another, Egon mostly in retribution of Peter's stupid antics, but this was different.

Egon struggled as tears started to fall from his eyes. "Ray! Winston! It's inconceiveable how the two of you…just sit there and…restrain me…while listening to this disgusting litany of false charges!" He glared back at Peter. "Listen to me, Peter, it will _kill _her! _I_ will kill her!"

Proud as a peacock, Peter grinned wickedly, and pointed his finger, shaking it cooly, as if he had just found the key to some outragoues mastermind scheme. "Nah, Spengs. You can't fool me. You can admit that she's just a little money-hungry, that's all."

Egon found he didn't have words to use anymore to argue with Peter. Even in his sickness, he bared his teeth so viciously, and glared at Peter so ravenoulsy, Winston and Ray swore he'd break his hold any second and kill him with his bare hands.

The psychologist whispered, savagely, hurtfully. "_You probably attract every kind of gold digger…don't ya_?"

Winston and Ray could feel Egon oddly shifting his weight, and before they knew it, lightning fast, the blonde man delivered such a swift roundhouse kick to Peter's cheek, Peter had no time to recover before receiving another straight kick, right to his stomach, that sent him flying almost across the room.

Peter fell on the floor with a solid _thud_. He lay there crumpled and moaning while Egon breathed hard enough to send his side into spasms, and the pain drove his head down almost to the bed.

Winston and Ray, still having a tight lock on his arms, looked at each other, wide-eyed. Ray couldn't help mouthing a long "wow" to the dark man restraining the physicist's other arm. They stared down at Peter, who was desperately trying to shake off the hits he took, cursing himself for making the stupid mistake of not restraining Egon's long legs. "I..thought I was far enough away!" Peter commented, his head rolling for a moment. "Guess I wasn—"

"-you _disgust _me, Doctor Venkman!" growled Egon with a hatred and venom that the other two have never heard coming out of him before, as tears fell on the bed inches below his face.

Silent tension, and, soon enough Egon's gasped sobs, filled the bunkroom of the firehouse.

Egon picked his head up and glared daggers at Peter, who was trying to sit up.

He suddenly went limp in their arms, and tears fell furiously, as Peter coughed and hacked away on he floor, bracing his stomach. "You-just…money. Money!…You _disgust_ me!" he shouted. "I told her to resign. I told her…" his voice softened, and Winston and Ray listened with rapt attention. "I told her, and I had to _listen to her cry_ when I did!" he said, glaring murderously at Peter.

Falling forwad, he continued. "Because…_I love her_. She's beautiful, and I love her. I want her here. I want her near me constantly so badly. _I want__ her__,"_ he hissed through his teeth. He paused, sobbing. "I _WANT_ HER!" he barked. "I…I know I need her. But I can't let her near me!" He struggled a bit, and Ray and Winston held him fast, cautiously. "Oh, God., _why_?" he cried, falling forward again. "One more thing…I can't…permit…"

Ray sniffed. _One more thing he won't, or feels he can't, allow himself to have_, he thought.

"Ragnarock will _kill her_ because of _me_. It'll _kill_ her! _I'll _kill her…I _love_ her!" he roared. He looked up again at Peter, who was now making his way to his feet.

Tears trailed heavily down the usually stoic scientist's red cheeks. After coughing and wincing in agony, he continued, softly, but not any more composed. "I…I'm terrified. I've always loved her. I'm…" his voice trailed off, and his expression softened. "Help…help me…"

Peter by now sat himself on the bed again, after slowly and painfully grunting every step of the way there.

He smiled. _His eyes are bluish now. He's gonna make it. _He raised a hand…and with a cocky grin, reached up, and firmly patted, almost lightly slapped, Egon's reddened, damp cheek. "I know, Spengs. I know," he whispered, while e looked up at him, so much more by now looking like a confused, six-foot-six-plus child rather than a world-class scientist.

He reached into his shirt pocket, and brought out an active communicator. "The three of us _know_. And I betcha she knows. But it was high time she heard it herself by your own mouth." He wiggled the device, and winked. "Don't you think?"

Egon stared wide-eyed at the communicator, terrified out of his wits. He grew another impossible shade paler.

It was so silent in the rfirehouse, Ray could swear the heard Egon's heart pounding against his chest.

Peter gripped the communicator tightly. "You can hate me all ya want for saying what I did, but I had to," he said in a slow, hushed whisper. "Because _YOU_ keep forgetting that you're never in this alone." He narrowed his eyes to slits, and practically hissed. "Whoever's gonna be after you from now on is gonna get to her over _our_ dead, cold, slime-covered bodies." Winston and Ray nodded immediately in agreement.

A brief wash of such intense pleasured relief, and simultaneously such unmitigated terror poured over Egon's face at that moment, Peter thought he couldn't even comprehend the level of catharsis-or terror-his friend was experiencing.

The two men holding Egon's arms at bay could feel his resistance to their restraint weakening quickly, and sure enough, he fell totally limp. He had passed out.

"Atta boy, Spengs," grunted Peter, straightening…sort of, and ruffling his friend's damp, unruly blonde hair. "Get some sleep."

"Great way to get 'im to rest, Peter," said Winston sarcastically as Ray carefully tipped Egon's head far back, and guided it as he and Winston gently laid him back down. "Why not just drive a Mack truck over 'im next time?"

"Yeah, I know," he said, strained, holding his stomach. "Then he can use a jackhammer on my face and guts, and we'll be nice and even." He gave the other two men a wicked wink.

He spoke firmly into the communicator. "Get that, Janine? You're gonna start again tomorrow morning, 8AM sharp. Don't be late or you'll get a dock in pay so nasty, you won't be able to afford ramen noodles!"

* * *

Curious, concerned people watched the pretty readheaded girl in the middle of the frozen aisle. A few passersby knelt down next to her, asking her what was wrong, and offering her wads of soft tissues, with no response. She seemed to not even be aware of them.

Janine sat, curled up on the floor of the supermarket, crying and sobbing furiously. She was haphazardly propped up by a freezer, her face half-covered. Mascara ran liberally through the fingers of one hand, the other five digits gently pulling at the firey locks at the top of her forehead. A little black box sat next to her, hissing with static, and now featuring a cocky-sounding man's voice talking about something like a dock in pay coming out of it.

"Oh, _Egon_! Oh, my God, Egon!…oh, Egon…" was all she could wail in between racked sobs, crumpling lower and lower down to the tiled floor. Over. And over. And over…


	28. Chapter 28

The Damocles Solution 28

She sighed. 2PM. She looked up from her work at two out of the three guys sitting on the couch. They were absorbed in a game of Monopoly, complaining every minute or so about the new and improved ways Peter discovered how to cheat.

She sighed again, and got up from the desk to get some milk from the kitchen.

Reminding herself that he already got his dressing-down from Peter and the guys, so this really isn't the bad idea she thought it was, she intrepidly headed up the stairs toward the lab. If felt like the longest few feet she'd ever walked.

She rounded the turn, and peeked in the lab. There was Egon, in a pristinely white dress shirt that hung open, and crisp khakis. He was leaning over the desk, deeply involved in designing some new wild aspect of their equipment, since he could not actively solder for at least another month and some additional weeks. He pored over his work, seemingly lost in it, using the fingers on his right arm as delicately as he could, only to hold a pencil once in a while. His crutch leaned against the table, awaiting his bidding.

Lesson learned previously, and not wanting to break his concentration so suddenly as to startle him, Janine purposely tapped with her heels and toes heavily on the wooden floor. Every step of the way to the table aside his desk, she started shaking more and more uncontrollably.

Placing the milk on the table next to him, she was ready to cry when he didn't turn around to acknowledge her. Instead, he sat stock still, turning and spinning the pencil in his left hand. It was the only thing that moved in the room. She could tell his eyes were riveted on the glass of milk next to him.

_He apologized over and over to everyone else for his mood when he was brought back… but hasn't said a single word to __me__ all day…why? __Why__?_

She withdrew her hand from the glass, and brought up her hands together, nervously twining her fingers together.

_Snap!_

…went the pencil. The sound of Egon effortlessly breaking it in half resonated in the thick, tense air.

She started from the sound, and a choked, tiny, timid cry escaped her throat.

She turned on a dime, in an effort to hurry and get downstairs so she could bawl her eyes out.

There was a sound of the stool at his desk getting moved.

She turned around, to see him walking toward her with a look she had _never_ seen on him, and couldn't decode. She raised an eyebrow. She wondered if _he_ could even decode that look in his now-greenish eyes were she able to hold a mirror up to him.

Silently he approached her, without the use of his crutch, she noticed. The only thing she could call the intense expression on his face was burning, calculated fury. It rather frightened her.

Slowly he walked toward her, intense and silent. His height only added to the imposing, searing look in his eyes. Thinking fast, she swiped up a PKE meter, and switched it on, pointing it right at him. No unusual signal…the Jormungar poison that still ran through him registered a notedly unique signal that they were all familiar with by now, and it was still there, unchanged. She hurriedly placed it back down, and held her hands up.

"…Egon?" she said softly. "E—Egon?"

There was no answer. He was now a step away, and she was wide-eyed, terrified that she couldn't get him to speak.

"Egon? Are—you-?"

He lunged at her, and took her in both arms, squeezing for all that he could muster, seemingly ignoring his previous injuries. He picked her up slightly, and bowed way down.

And gave her the longest, most intense, passionate kiss she ever had from _anyone_ in her life.

_Wooooow,_ she thought, as she almost was lifted clear off her feet.

It went on and on..he backed her up againt the wall by the doorjamb, and continued to press. Her head spun in sheer delight, as the rest of her was gloriously wedged between the wall and his slender, yet muscular body.

* * *

Winston poked his head out of the doorway to the kitchen. "Hey, don't you guys think that's a pretty long time to drop off a glass a' milk?"

Ray blushed looking at the dark man out of the corner of his eyes, and Peter just sat there, shifting his eyes between the two men, grinning stupidly.

* * *

There was nothing else in the room at that moment except his beautifully full lips, and whatever she felt pressing into her. She raised her hands, and started stroking whatever she could reach of his sides underneath his shirt with her fingertips. They welcomed him to press in even more.

Ssoon enough, her eyes shot far open. She realized—he was grasping her so tightly and for so long…she _couldn't breathe_! She couldn't pound his back, either, as he had her arms tighly held, too. The more she tried to talk and get him to let her breathe, the further in he took it. Even heavily clawing his back underneath his shirt with her fingernails didn't stop him.

He sunk to the floor, her helplessly taken along.

Soon enough, the room spun, this time from lack of oxygen, and she fell limp.

Blinded to her plight by his passion, he released her finally, and held her close, whispering soft words into her ear she couldn't hear…for obvious reasons.

…and when he noticed she wasn't talking, realized his mistake and apologized profusely.

She roused finally, and said out loud in her stupor, more to herself than anyone else. "Woooooooow! What a great way to die, Melnitz!" She looked at him heavy-liddedly, each one of them panting heavily…for very different reasons.

Coming to her senses, she flashed in anger, and helding her spinning head. "A girl's gotta BREATHE whan ya do that, Egon! Yanno, carbon dioxide out, oxygen in? THAT kinda thing?"

He was truly mortified. "I—I'm sorry. I—"

She caressed his lips and smiled.. "Don't worry, Egon," she whispered. "It was wonderful anyway."

A terrified, pained look washed over him. He threw his left hand up against the wall in back of her to brace himself, and leaned heavily, shaking his head. "I..don't understand it. It's not logical. It's…nonsensical. It's—," he said quickly, grinding his teeth.

She put a finger up under his chin, the other hand now free to caress his chest, and leaned back against the wall, pulling his chin along as easily as if he were leashed. "Then, just let it be illogical and nonsensensical," she whispered, drawing her fingertips feather-lightly down his dampened torso. She looked in his greenish eyes, and thought for a moment that he looked a bit sick again. He was, in fact, perspiring heavily. "Just let it be," she breathed into his mouth. "_Please_."

His face shifted slowly from fear, to fierce intensity. Soon enough, he was gazing at her again with that same look he gave her when walking across the room.

He bent down low, shifted her hair with his nose a bit…

…and _growled _in her ear.

The deep sound shot heat all the way though her from head to toe. "Wow," she breathed. "Do that every time and I really might not be able to help myself." She brought her lips to his ear. "I love you, Egon Spengler. I always did."

He released a long, broken exhalation into her ear, and, pressing into her, bent down to touch his lips to hers again.

"Oh…Egon…"


	29. Chapter 29

NOTE: Fixed some typos and things, Sept 28th 2010.

The Damocles Solution 29

(Or, a stupid epilogue. :oP)

About to press his lips to her again, he groaned, and winced. He ended up bypassing her head, and leaned heavily against the wall, breathing hard, and almost sliding all the way to the floor. This time, his troubles were stemming less from lust than from the poison.

She barked his name in concern, and hooked her arms around him. Even though she was concerned and was trying to keep him up, she still managed to release an exasperated, heavy breath. _Dammit!_ she thought. _I coulda had it all right here if it weren't for that STUPID damned Jormunger thing!_ She shook her head, and leaned against him, doing her best to prop him up. _Oh well, that's OK. Dr.V would just parade in with a Polaroid if he could anyway_.

"You should get back to the bunkroom", she whispered. "You're gonna wear yerself out."

He picked his head up, but his eyes still were shut. He was moving as if he were dizzy. "I'll be fine…I want to head downstairs. Can't sleep yet."

"Egon, you—"

"I'm fine," he said, holding up a casted hand to silence her. "I…I really am. If I had someone to guide me down the stairs, that'd be sufficient. I'm…just…rather dizzy…"

Janine rolled her eyes. "Oh…alright, if yer sure. We'll go." She now had a wicked, impetuous glint in her eye. "But first, let me hold you a bit."

She gathered him close, and gave him a strong hug…while she dug that unmatchable tube of dark lipstick out of her pocket she stuck there before leaving for work, thinking she'd drop by the clothing stores on the way home that day. He was so dizzy, even if she blatantly reloaded her lips an inch away from his nose as opposed to furtively, as she was doing, he never would have noticed anyway.

And reload she did. _Very _heavily, and more than once…and, moving his shirt away here and there, kissed him in a few more pointedly interesting places before finally burying her face in the material of his shirt to remove any suspicion that any out-of-place lip color might create.

When finished, she spoke a quick "let's go", and helped Egon slowly haul himself up, and out of the lab.

As they appeared at the top of the stairs, Winston and Ray, on the couch, smiled broadly. He looked _so_ much better now.

Peter snapped his head up in genuine concern. Janine was a strong albeit petite girl, yes, but considering that Egon was so much taller and so much heavier than she was, he felt leagues better when he spent the effort to race up the stairs to them.

"Hey, Janine, if he insists on being sadistic and hanging out with us like this, I'll handle this fer ya." He almost didn't get the last word out when he saw out of the corner of his eye what he didn't see on the way up—the deep, dark red that was smeared all over Egon's face, and appeared here and there as perfect round circles on his neck and far down his chest and torso, too. Waaaaay down. And that obnoxious smear on his shirt to boot!

"Thanks, Dr. V. I'll get the crutch." She grinned wider than the Cheshire cat seeing Peter's reaction to her work, and his new facial adjustment—as he now sported a huge black and blue on the side of his jaw—and disappeared into the lab.

Peter, on the other hand, was sure he overdrew his account at the self-control bank when he didn't immediately wolf whistle at Egon, who was already recklessly heading for the stairs on his own.

And so, that gave him an opportunity. In a split second, Peter Venkman considered. _Should__ I tell 'im that he's got something probably called "Sugarplum Purpleberry Passion" smeared all over 'im? __Should__ I point it out? __Should__ I hand him a tissue? Gosh, I'd be such a gooooooood friend if I did, wouldn't I?_

He frowned.

Then cogitated.

Then grinned.

Then smiled.

…_Nnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaah!_

Instead, he thought it much more amusing for everyone to simply let the physicist be, and get their jollies as he'd predictably have no idea what was going on. Peter knew someday he'd get his own, but that wouldn't be until Egon recovered enough to be able to think of something truly worthy of his powers of mental creation. He ran to catch up with Egon, who was already down his first step, and hooked one of E's long arms over his head, and wrapped one of his own around e's waist.

Peter cocked an eyebrow, the most stupid grin on his face he ever cracked as he continued to furtively scan Egon's face and chest. "Sooooo….have fun making up?" Janine, now bearing Egon's crutch, happened to also catch Peter's question. She _humphed_ loudly as Peter and Egon let her go by. She headed down the stairs, leaned the crutch against the couch when she got there, and finally sat at her desk.

Egon glared at Peter out of the corners of his eyes furiously, his head threatening to throw too much green at him at any momnt. "Is _that_ why you offered your assisstance just now?" he grunted painfully as he was helped down the stairs. "Solely to inquire about the progression of my private affairs?"

When they made it down, Ray straightened where he sat, looking terribly concerned for Egon on first sight of him, convinced that he was bleeding. Peter put a finger up to his lips, and Ray finally saw the discolorations for what they were when they finally got close enough. Ray's eyes went wide open, then he grinned broadly and nodded ever so slightly, getting the drift.

Winston made sure one of his large hands stayed across his mouth so Egon wouldn't see his amused, upturned lips.

The physicist sat at the first seat available, Peter next to him. Directly to Peter's left, there was Winston and Ray, glancing at each other, well aware of the deep red, kiss-shaped elephants in the room.

Peter was the first to break the tense silence. "So…what's for eats?" he began, amused in contemplating seeing who would crack first during some small talk. He predicted it'd be Ray.

"Nuthin'," said Winston, annoyed. "Slimer ransacked the whole fridge. _Again._ Ray went out to the store to get more, and now it's gone before I even got done puttin' it in there. _Again_."

Egon rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and before he spoke, he cocked an eyebrow. He was starting to sense that the three other men were desperately averting their eyes from him. "Well, I suggest we rely on takeout until Slimer returns to equilibrium. This way we'd be able to guard our sustainence more closely. And the leftovers would be easier to give up, too as they'd be drastically less appetizing than anything we make here."

Peter leaned forward, and threaded his fingers together. He continued to give the two men on the other seat, each in their turn, such a buffoonish, stupid, grinny stare, they both turned red from not allowing themselves to explode in laughter. He just…_sat_ there, silently daring them both not to break.

Egon looked dumbfounded at their behavior. "Would you gentlemen please consider informing me what you find so amusing?" He nailed his dark glare on Peter,who held a hand to his heart, and leaned back, eyebrows raised…as if to say, "who, _MEEEEE_?"

Winston pointed at him, trying subtley to come to his aid. And _not_ look at Peter's idiotic expressions. "Looks like you got a big PROPERTY OF MELNITZ all over ya, man. Might wanna rent that out for ad space," he teased, positively not able to hold a straight face much longer.

Egon turned to him, clueless. "Excuse me? I am not exactly wearing a racer's uniform or anything similar which tends to obnoxiously sport multiple patches of sponors."

Ray by now was beet red. "Maybe we can raise some good money for new equipment that way! Whatcha think, guys?"

Their only answer was to ever so slightly lose control over their laugher.

Elegantly miffed, the tall physicist unsteadily rose from his seat. "If you'll excuse me gentlemen, I will be in the restroom, as that is _obviously _the place I will have to delve into researching what you all think is so amusing about my presentation." He grabbed his long crutch, and slung himself toward the restroom, muttering ascerbically about the "repressive secrecy" and "juvenile furtiveness" of the rest of the 'Busters.

After watching Egon arise and leave the area, Peter turned to Ray and Winston. "You know, you guys, I'm not sharing one dime of that money I saved up to treat your stomachs to takeout every day. You're on your own. That's what happens when you don't listen to Dr. Venkman!"

"Ah, Slimer'll get over it soon enough," said Winston, waving his hand. "I think I gained a few extra pounds by my food actually being there where I expected it for once."

Soon enough, they all heard a loud, exasperated, "aaaaaaaaaggghhhhhh!" in a familiar bass voice coming from out of the restroom, making the guys burst into loud, long laughter that reverberated around the firehouse.

The three men looked back at Janine, who only raised her eyebrows from her paperwork, grinned, shrugged, and bit the top of her pen.

* * *

End note: This fanfiction is the result of being a silly Egon/Janine 'shipping fangirl for over TWENTY years, and I refuse to acknowledge material that says otherwise (throws multiple rotten tomatoes at Aykroyd and Ramis). God bless JMS, and his view of this awesomely hawt sorta-couple, all the top notch voice actors (especially the super-awesome Lorenzo Music, RIP), all the animators, and everyone else that made the Straczynski-approved Real Ghostbusters episodes. Awesome stories like these are what made my childhood worth it amidst all the garbage and crapola.

Stay "Real", folks! ^_^ Hope you enjoyed the show.

Credits.:

Lysol, for their Scrubbing Bubbles!

The back of a Pantene bottle, for the word "methylchloroisothiazolinone" :o)

The Ectozone

Wild Kingdom!

Freakazoid (it's awesome, go and watch some episodes.)

Begin To Spin (yo-yos FTW!) BegintoSpin DOT com

Ecto Web Episode giude: ecto-web DOT org

Baby names—for my characters! ^_^ Babynamesworld DOT Parentsconnect DOT com

TV Tropes: TV Tropes DOT org

Why God Why? A forum that used to be God Awful Fan Fiction…for showing me what NOT to write ^_^ WhyGodWhy DOT org

BugGuide DOT net

Norse Mythology: ancient-mythology DOT com

Encyclopaedia Brintannica is out, Wikipedia is in. Woot! And "print is dead", too.

Crime DOT about DOT com

Thesaurus DOT com

Dictionary DOT com


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